


The West Wing

by Cruel_Irony



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Abuse, Affairs, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blackmail, Bonding, Child Abuse, Depression, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Libraries, M/M, Mac Nightingale's A+ Parenting, Mental Health Issues, Out of Character, Past Character Death, Picnics, Rape, Tony Hutchinson's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-09-05 20:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cruel_Irony/pseuds/Cruel_Irony
Summary: All good love stories have to start somewhere. This particular love story starts in a library. More specifically, in the West Wing of the library at Hollyoaks Manor.All James wanted when he arrived at the Hollyoaks estate was to work on his thesis and be done - hopefully avoiding conversation with the various family members along the way. What he did not expect was to fall in love with the son of Lord Hutchinson - Harry Hay. But... these things happen, after all.Kind of a Downton Abbey/Hollyoaks AU(Please heed the tags and warnings. Some characters do not come off well in this story, and that is my personal interpretation for this story. I do not agree with some of the views expressed by some characters, and I know that some of the events in this story can be hard to read and may be triggering. So, please, be careful) xxx





	1. Chapter 1

Zack expertly balances the tea tray in his arms and knocks softly on his master’s bedroom door. There’s a weak reply and he pushes in and places the tray down on the small table by the window. The young Lord is curled upon the armchair, staring lifelessly out of the window, wrapped in a grey dressing gown. Zack spies the small, round bruises creeping up the young man’s neck, and shadows under his eyes that seem even darker than they were the day before.

“My Lord, shall I pour your tea?” Zack restrains a smile at the look he is given. A raised brow, a sharp glance and a fond quirk of the lips. “My apologies. Harry, do you want some tea?” Lord Harry nods, his gaze returning to the forest outside the window.

Zack sets the teacup within easy reach of Harry, and picks up the tray back up. “I’ll bring up your breakfast soon. Do you have any plans for today, Harry?”

“I would like to visit my mother.” Zack nods and gives a shallow bow before leaving his master to his thoughts.

Downstairs, the hustle and bustle of the servants hall is an assault on his ears after the quiet of house, where all steps are muffled by plush blue carpets and even whispers seem forbidden. He weaves through the hallways and maids to the kitchen where he places the tray out of the way of the cooks’ lunch preparations.

“Just in time, Zack,” says the head cook, Kathy Barnes, as she hands him the freshly prepared breakfast tray. “You take this up to that poor lamb, then come back down for the servants’ lunch. We’re just serving the upstairs luncheon now.” Her eyes glisten and she gives a sympathetic half-smile. Zack nods and smiles in thanks to Mrs Barnes.

He turns to head upstairs, but is stopped short by a hand on his arm, turning him around. Brendan Brady, despite the muscles straining the seams of his suit and his perpetual glare, takes care not to upset the food on the tray or hurt Zack.

“What do you want, Brady?” Zack looks back up the stairs, eager to take the very late breakfast to Harry. When Brendan doesn’t reply, Zack finally pays him full attention. “What is it?”

“How is he?”

Zack rolls his eyes, “How do you think? I thought your affair with the Lord was supposed to distract him from his husband - not drive him closer! The plan’s not working, so what’s the point in you?”

Brendan looms close enough to Zack that the younger valet can feel his hot, tobacco laced breath. “I’m not a part of any plan! You’d better get that through your thick skull. I love Ste and he loves me. Keeping his delicate little husband sane is just a happy little side-effect. And you know that whatever you try, Ste won’t let S’Avage or His Lordship fire me.”

“If Harry’s not your concern, then why are you acting like he is?”

Brendan steps back, straightening his suits sharply. He says stiffly, “I don’t like to share.” The mature valet backs away and heads into the servants hall. Things between the valets of the household have always been strained; their individual loyalties to their masters conflicting with the camaraderie of the downstairs staff. Zack often found himself taking his anger at the family upstairs out on the family downstairs.

He mounts the stairs again and continues up to Harry’s room, hoping the toast will still be warm enough. The trek used to tax the muscles in his legs until he could barely stand without aches and burns at the end of the day. Now, the muscle memory makes the journey an easy one. He could make the trip in his sleep.

Little has changed in Harry’s room, though the tea has been drained and Harry has picked out a book to read. Zack knows it is one he has read a thousand times before, one he looks to for comfort. The Secret Garden - his mother used to read it to him.

“Sorry I’m late.” He places the tray on the table, and watches out of the corner of his eye as Harry slowly picks at his breakfast, though it’s late enough to be lunch, while he gets out the day’s clothes. “Your advice worked wonders, by the way.”

Harry looks up, humming confusedly.

“Lisa. You were right, she just needed to give mum time. I mean, mum’s still not happy that she wants to leave service and be a singer of all things, but at least she’s not threatening to lock her in the house. Everyone knows she has the talent to go far - there’s a reason Her ladyship has her sing every Christmas - so mum can’t use that as an excuse. Plus, dad’s on Lisa’s side, too. She’s got auditions in a few weeks, S’Avage gave her the week off for it.”

“That’s good,” Harry replies quietly. “And what about you? Have you taken my advice?”

“And what advice would that be?” Zack steadies Harry as he stands on weak legs, and proceeds to help him undress and dress. Harry shoots him a look, one that says that Zack knows exactly what advice he is talking about. “Fine. I haven’t asked her.”

“Zack.” Harry admonishes, “Why not?”

“I’m going to. I’ve been saving up for tickets to the pictures, and I want to make sure it’ll be one she enjoys. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t mess it up. So what if you stutter or blush, she’ll find it endearing and it’ll make her like you more. Besides, Sonia’s just as smitten with you as you are with her.”

“And how do you know that?” Zack holds up Harry’s favourite coat - a size too big and lined with soft wool - and the young lord slips into it gratefully. “Make a habit of flirting with the maids, do you?”

“You’re not my only source of gossip, you know. Jade likes to vent while she builds the fires.” Harry pauses, his small smile fading. “When were you going to tell me about the scholar taking over the library? Seems like something a valet would tell his lord.”

Zack looks away, occupying himself with tidying away the breakfast tray and rearranging the few cosmetics on the bedside. Perfume bottle one inch to the left, concealer a centimetre forward, comb parallel to the mirror.

“Zack?”

“They didn’t want me to tell you. They didn’t want to risk upsetting you. He’s forbidden from entering the West Wing of the library without supervision - he wouldn’t have disturbed you.” Zack turns to his master, who leans heavily on a bed post. “He’s supposed to be here this evening, just before dinner.”

“Today? I’m guessing ‘they’ are my father and husband. They were just going to hope I never noticed a stranger roaming around the house, joining us at meals and reading my books.”

“You know how they are. And it’s not like you go down for dinner most days, anyway. Can you blame them for wanting to avoid distressing you or… you know.”

“I do know.”

Before Harry can sit back down and not get up for the rest of the day, Zack catches his elbow, “Why don’t we go for that walk, yeah?” Harry nods, and Zack guides him out of the room; the maids will clean while they are gone.

Zack is thankful that the family are still having their lunch in the dining room, that way he can safely walk Harry out the front door and into the fresh air. The crisp late autumn chill perks the young lord right up and he gently pulls himself from Zack’s hold and sets a steady pace out over the fields surrounding the large manor towards the village.

The grounds are peaceful as usual. The wind ripples over the manicured grass and makes the two men wriggle deeper into their coats. Zack is glad for the fact that Harry allows him to keep one his own coats in the wardrobe for these walks, he would hate to have to make the journey up to the servants room in the attic, no matter how used to it he is. His coat may not be as expensive as Harry’s, and the inside lining may be more patches than original material, but it’s thick and heavy and, most of all, warm.

They pass the groundskeeper, Dirk, the butler’s brother, and he waves cheerfully at them. Harry waves back, but they don’t stop to talk, and Dirk doesn’t seem inclined to either. He’s waist deep in fertilising flowerbeds and the smell of manure is already reaching them.

Harry’s chosen path takes them through a small wooded area that leads to the edge of the village by the church. During the spring and early summer, the area blooms with wild flowers in incredible colours, but now the dirt path is lined by weeds. They are no less remarkable in their own way, Zack must admit, else why would Harry be picking them to create a bouquet.

This is the reason why they walk this particular way rather than take the better maintained, and more popular roads into the village, so Harry can picks flowers for his mother. Zack doesn’t interrupt, simply follows behind, an eye always on Harry’s back. Sometimes, on good days, Harry will strike up a conversation, on very good days he will wax poetic about some dusty old book he found in the library; but on bad, and very bad, days he is mostly silent. Zack can’t complain; unlike the other two valets in the house, and the three footmen, his work load is surprisingly light. He’s more of a companion to Harry than a servant. At least walking through woodland gets him out of polishing glasses and shining boots.

The path widens as they near the village, and the quaint stone houses can be seen through the trees. They come out next to the church, and Harry, now with a collection of daisies and dandelions and ferns clutched in his hands, pushes through the church gate and into the graveyard.

Zack hangs back, still watching but without imposing. Harry had been close to his mother as a child, far more than most noble children were with their parents, and it had been devastating when she had died. Lady Tessa, Lord Tony’s first wife, had been loved by everyone in the house - she was a character, as Zack’s mother would describe her. She had even helped Zack’s family out during tough times, letting a young Zack and Harry play together so that both Simone and Louis could earn enough money. Her death, in his opinion, marked Harry’s slow decline, which had only worsened.

Though it had been years since, Harry never failed to visit her once a week, once a fortnight when he wasn’t in the mood to leave his bedroom. He always brought flowers, or a trinket he picked up in the market. Sometimes he said nothing - Zack thinks he must be reminiscing or thinking to himself - other times he can’t stop, as if his mother was really there, sitting atop her tombstone nodding along with a loving smile.

Today is a long and silent day. Harry kneels down on the ground, places the flowers gently before him, and sits in silence. Zack takes a seat on a nearby bench when it becomes apparent that they will be here for a while. He keeps his boredom at bay by daydreaming, and if they happen to be about a beautiful assistant cook, then no one need know.

The sun has started to sink and Zack’s stomach begins to rumble when Harry finally gets up, dusts down his trousers, and makes to leave the graveyard. Zack stands too, and walks by his side through the village. The darker evenings keep them clear of the woods now, neither one of them wanting to trip on an unseen root or be attacked.

“Thank you for staying.”

“Where else would I be?” Zack nudges Harry playfully with his elbow, earning a silent laugh and a smile from his master.

“Eating. I could hear your stomach growling from across the cemetery. I’m sorry I made you miss your lunch.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just gives Mrs Barnes an excuse to feed me and fatten me up. You know how she’s always on about me not having enough meat on my bones.”

The walk through the village is longer than through the woods, but it is better lit and more populated. The villagers they pass wave, just like Dirk, but they know better than to stop them to talk. Yet Harry still smiles slightly and waves at them as they pass.

Soon, Hollyoaks Manor appears on the horizon - an imposing building of old, fading grey stone, impressively decorated with intricate sculptures. It’s a beautiful sight in sunlight, a mystical one at dusk, and a terror in the dark of night. Zack remembers returning from Christmas mass and watching the snow fall around the estate, thinking it to be the most mesmerising sight.

“Will you be dining with the family tonight?” Zack asks quietly, knowing it might ruin his master’s mood. He is right; Harry’s eyes glaze over and he murmurs softly, his lips barely parting.

“I’ll take it in my room. I don’t think I’m up to entertaining right now.”

Zack rings the bell to the front door, which is opened promptly by Mr S’Avage, who bows at the sight of Harry and lets them pass. The butler returns to the dining room, where chatter and the clink of utensils can be heard from the hall.

Zack and his lord head straight for the stairs, shedding coats as they go, and close the door to Harry’s bedroom, shutting out the noise. He hangs up the coats, and helps Harry dress into something more comfortable. There’s no point in dressing up to have dinner alone. Harry settles down in his chair by the window as Zack heads back downstairs.

He slips in beside the footmen, Will, Dennis and Dodger - or Mark, as the family call him - and listens in to their gossip. He has to have some stories to regale Harry with.

“He’s posh for a lowborn guy. Knows all the right cutlery to use an’ all.” Remarks Dodger, “Quite a charmer, too.”

Will scoffs, “Charmer? Yeah, right. He looked about ready to stab His Lordship with teaspoon when he started talking about noble families and what not.”

“Just like you to focus on the murderous parts of the dinner.” Says Dennis, as they enter the kitchen, “I agree with Dodger - you can tell he’s a scholar, rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty, he knew just how to talk to His Lordship. I like him.”

“Whatever, Dennis. There’s something about him. Mark my words.” Warns Will. He hands the tray and dishes to Sonia, and picks up one of the desserts.

“Ah, Zack.” Kathy butts in, ushering the footmen out of her way. “I set something aside from dinner for the young lord. And I’ve given you something to tide you over until dinner.” She hands over two trays stacked together, all piled with enough food to feed an army. Zack’s arms nearly sag under the weight. “I’ve got some lemon cakes, too, if he’s still hungry.”

“We’ll see, Mrs Barnes. Thank you.”

Once more up the stairs, but Zack decides to take the scenic route, and walks past the dining room, hoping to catch a glimpse of the house’s scholarly guest. Luckily, his steps are muffled by the carpets, and he’s had enough practise to keep the tray steady and his breathing quiet.

Through the door to the dining room, he spies the family - Lord Tony, Lady Diane, Lord Ste, and a man he has never seen before. A dark haired man, tall and slender, dressed in black-tie like his hosts, though his suit, upon closer inspection, is a few years older than Lord Tony’s, sits and smiles politely at Her Ladyship. He must be the scholar; he doesn’t look to have done a day’s hard labour in his life. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Zack remembers Mr S’Avage mentioning the man’s name to be Mr James Maxwell-Brown, and that it was too much of a mouthful not to say ‘sir’ when addressing him.

Maxwell-Brown’s voice filters through the crack in the door, and Zack perks up. “Were we expecting anyone else? I notice there’s another place set.”

Zack catches the minute fidgeting of Lord Tony, and his mouth twists bitterly. “Oh, no. My son, Ste’s husband, usually sits there. But he’s been taken rather ill recently, and won’t be joining us. It must be a force of habit for the servants to set it out.” His Lordship sends a look Mr S’Avage’s way, and the man looks away, scolded.

“That’s a shame. I had hoped to meet him; you mentioned in your correspondence that he’s an avid reader. He might be interested in my work while on bedrest.”

“Perhaps.” Is Lord Tony’s reply.

Zack scowls and storms away. Recently, everything His Lordship does makes Zack’s blood boil and his hands clench not fists. His anger is taken out on the floor, so when he arrives at Harry’s room, he is his usual, calm self. It wouldn’t do to distress Harry. But, as usual, Harry can tell. Their years of, dare he say, friendship, have led to an uncanny ability to tell the other’s emotions.

“What’s wrong?” Though the passion and care behind his voice suggest a desire to immediately fight whatever problems Zack is facing, the valet can tell that the young lord is already tiring. Slumped in his chair, hands loose in his lap, and that deep melancholy in his eyes.

“Nothing out of the ordinary.” Harry nods, he knows and empathises with Zack’s low-level dislike for most of the family. “I was right, Mrs Barnes has more than made up for a missed lunch.”

He sets down the tray and sits down next to his master, and tucks into his portion of the food. At first, when Harry had asked Zack to eat with him, he had refused, knowing that it wasn’t done. Mr S’Avage and his mother, the housekeeper, were understandably outraged at the idea when he had told them. But they had relented when Harry had persisted. Harry was their boss, after all, even if he had been only seventeen at the time.

Harry stops eating before Zack, his appetite clearly gone, and waits for his valet to finish. Zack brushes his hands on a napkin, and stands up. “Let’s get you settled then.” It’s still early. He will doubtless be given several odd jobs to finish downstairs before he can even think of going to bed himself. But Harry has become a special case over the years. Rising late, going to bed early, avoiding his family in a house so big it allows him to do that.

With Harry settled under the covers, his eyes already drifting shut, Zack gives the room a quick once over, then exits the room quietly. As he passes the main staircase, he looks out over the bannisters. The family and Mr Maxwell-Brown are leaving the drawing room after coffee and port, and are heading up to bed. Zack tries to make a quick getaway, but isn’t fast enough before he is spotted.

“Mr Loveday.” It’s His Lordship. Zack can’t ignore him.

He turns around and bows politely. “My Lord?” The scholar is standing next to the lord, looking rather awkward.

“I wonder if you might be James - I mean, Mr Maxwell-Brown’s - valet during his stay. You should be able to accommodate it.” Despite the lack of clear cut commands, Zack is left with no doubt that he will be tending to the scholar. So he nods, and bows again. “Very good.”

His Lordship turns to the guest, “I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast, James.”

“Actually, I was hoping to get an early start on the research. I’ve been waiting a long time to get my hands on your library.” Mr Maxwell-Brown softens his refusal with a chuckle, one that the lord of the manor copies, until his face suddenly sobers.

“Very well. But I must stress again that the west wing is out of bounds, even to you. If you need anything from there, you will have to ask a servant or be chaperoned.”

“May I ask why?”

Lord Tony wrings his hands, mulling over an answer for a moment. “There are a few very valuable items kept in that portion of the library. I can’t take the risk that they will be damaged.” Once more, Zack bristles.

The two gentlemen shake hands and then Lord Tony departs to his own bedchamber. Zack smiles at the guest and makes his way to the guest room he knows has been allocated to the man, hoping he will follow obediently. He leaves the dinner tray on an inconspicuous table in an out of the way nook. Maxwell-Brown gives him a tight smile as he hold open the bedroom door.

Zack says nothing as he works on autopilot to undress Maxwell-Brown, and the man doesn’t offer any conversation of his own. The man is tense, shoulders hunched and arms drawn across his chest every chance he can get. It’s posture Harry would have had furiously chastised out of him. It makes Zack curious, so, while he usually avoids staring, he pays closer attention to Maxwell-Brown’s body.

The light is low and the room is full of shadows; the house is slowly changing from gas to electricity, but this room is still in the olden days - candles and weak gas lights. So it’s only when the light hits at certain angles that Zack can see the near invisible scars that criss-cross the man’s body. Not confined to his back, the thin, silvery lines mar his toned arms, his chest, even his legs. Insatiable curiosity and the need to know what happened rise up, Zack manages to push it down.

As he leaves Mr Maxwell-Brown for the night, informing him that he will be back in the morning to help him dress, Zack thinks to himself. Should he mention the scars to the downstairs staff? It’s juicy gossip, and they will no doubt want a detailed description of the man. But it feels too personal. Valets don’t usually betray their masters’ secrets. But the man isn’t his usual master, so the rules might not apply in the same way? Of course, he will tell Harry everything. Maybe he should wait for Harry’s word? Yes, that’s what he’ll do.

The tray has been taken away, as he suspected it would be, so he makes his way downstairs. The servants are finally sitting down for their dinner, and he gladly joins them. One thing he has learnt is to never turn down food even if you don’t feel particularly hungry, as it will easily be worked off later or the next day.

He takes his seat between Darren and Dodger, which is unfortunately opposite Brendan. Meaning the two men’s eyes lock more than once, and the tension at the table increases tenfold when Brendan shakes his head slightly. Zack’s grip on his knife is painfully tight.

“What about that guest then?” Dennis speaks into the silence. Even Mr S’Avage is glad of the interruption.

Darren shares a glance with his wife, Nancy, then answers, “His Lordship seems to like him so far. The man’s got proper respect and manners, apparently, and he enjoyed all the tales he was spinning. You know how the lord likes to make a good impression.”

“Lady Diane thinks he’s charming.” Says Nancy, Lady Diane’s lady’s maid, in between delicate bites of the dinner leftovers.

“What about Lord Ste?” Will asks Brendan, earning himself a glare from across the table, one he doesn’t shy away from. Zack thinks Will might be one of the only people in the house who doesn’t hold even a little bit of scared of Brendan.

“He doesn’t like guests.” Is all Brady offers.

Lisa scoffs, “Well, we already knew that. Anything particular he doesn’t like about scholars? I bet it’s just because he’s a man. And a handsome one at that.” She and Liberty, one of the other maids, share a giggle. Zack squirms in his seat, and he sees Brendan’s knuckles whiten.

“Lisa,” Zack’s mother scolds, “That’s enough of that. If you’ve finished, you may be excused.”

Zack takes the chance, and gets up. He kisses his mother and sister on the cheek, bids goodnight to everyone and begins the trek upstairs. He hears the scrape of a few chairs behind him, so he hurries ahead. He’s not in the mood to talk to anyone. Not tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's POV -
> 
> *WARNING*  
> Rape/Non-con Elements in this chapter, as well as references to depression and other mental health problems that may be triggering. If you don't like it, then don't read. xx

Harry wakes up to an arm wrapped tightly around his waist and hot breath on his neck. The desire to squirm and pull away is strong but he fears waking up the man beside him. Ste likes his sleep, and previous experiences have taught him never to wake him up in the middle of the night. Of course, if the situation were reversed, it would be acceptable. So, he closes his eyes and tries to go back to sleep, despite knowing how hard it was to fall asleep in the first place.

It proves a fruitless task. He simply lies there, hating the feeling of being trapped in bed, watching the light from the crack in the curtains get ever so slowly lighter. He doesn’t think of anything in particular. It feels like time is sand in his hands, pouring through his fingers faster than he can catch it. By the time the sunlight is more yellow than grey, he has been awake for five hours now. At least Ste will soon be waking up.

As if on cue, his husband groans, his grip on Harry’s waist tightening momentarily, before he rolls over and his hand fumbles around on the bedside table for the clock. At seeing the time, he reaches for the cord by the bed post, the one that will bring up a servant - either Brady or Zack. Harry doesn’t know which he wants it to be.

Ste flops onto his back, his gaze turning to Harry, who still lies in exactly the same position. He smirks and looks Harry’s body up and down. Harry’s heart begins to race. His husband leans in for a kiss, hand cupping his cheek and pulling him up. He lets himself be manipulated and dominated in the kiss like a rag doll, pliant and soft. He barely has to do anything before Ste is leaning over him, his other hand pawing at Harry’s body.

Ste is trailing kisses down Harry’s throat and unbuttoning his pyjamas while manoeuvring himself to lie on top of his younger husband.

“So beautiful.”

Harry picks his favourite spot on the canopy above him and stares at it. There’s a small blemish. You could almost miss it, unless you sought it out like Harry does. Cream thread woven into beige cloth where a moth must have eaten through. The colour change is gradual, and very well done. Whoever did it was skilled, Harry knows even without knowing anything about sewing or upholstery. Barely noticeable, but Harry has the time to find these things.

“You’re mine. All mine.”

Like the dark patch in the wallpaper just above the wardrobe where there once was damp. And the whistle of the fireplace when the fire has died down; the light breeze that comes from it and tickles his bare feet when he stands before the grate. He knows how tall each of the bedposts are. How one is an eight of an inch shorter than the others and his father won’t let him have it replaced just because it annoys him. He knows that the maids don’t often clean under the bed and it accumulates dust at an alarming rate.

“No else can have you. Only mine.”

He once made pictures out of clouds when he was a child, lying out in a field with his mother by his side. The elaborate stories he created based on a few misshapen lumps of fluff in the sky never failed to make his mother laugh. Now he finds pictures in the shapes on the wallpaper. His favourite is a clown. The clown is always the first that appears to him, with a pointed hat and a bulbous belly; sometimes it dances and a wide grin spreads across its face, but mostly it’s sad. Such a sad, sad clown.

Focusing on these mundane things proves a decent distraction.

There’s a sharp knock on the door just as Ste collapses back on his side of the bed, his breathing heavy and laboured. He manages to call out an affirmative and the door opens. It’s Ste’s valet, Brady. He’s immaculate, as always, suit neatly pressed and moustache finely combed and trimmed. S’Avage often complained about the man’s facial hair, but Ste liked it, so it stayed.

Ste’s face lights up when Brady stood to attention beside the bed. Harry watches as his husband bounds out of bed and captures the valet in a passionate kiss, one which the servant reciprocates. Their tongues weave and dart between mouths, saliva catching the light. Hands wander and grab hold, eliciting explicit moans of surprise and pleasure. The two men are oblivious to Harry lying prone on the mattress, still in the position Ste left him.

Finally, they break apart, gazing into each other’s eyes. Ste takes Brady’s hand and leads him to the door that connects to Ste’s dressing room, and on to Ste’s separate bedroom. As he leaves, Brady looks at Harry, the husband of the man he is having an affair with. Harry averts his eyes to the spot of coal dust on the hearth. Brady rings the bell for Zack.

It doesn’t take long for Zack to knock on the door and enter with a tea tray, but Harry doesn’t think he could stomach boiled water. He’s not hungry, in fact, he barely feels the hunger pangs anymore. It’s like there isn’t a stomach there to get hungry. Eating has become a chore when he would rather stay in bed or read in the library.

“My Lord? Harry?” Zack places the tray down and moves to sit down on the bed beside Harry. “Shall we go to the library today, Harry? We can stay in the West Wing, the scholar’s forbidden from going there so you won’t be disturbed. Harry, answer me, please.”

Rolling over onto his side, Harry clutches the duvet close to his chest, almost obscuring his face completely. If he wanted Zack to take a hint and leave, then he failed. The valet stayed loyally by his side, having nothing better to do than sit by the side of a moping lord.

Harry mumbles incoherently into his pillow.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

In a tired voice far beyond his years, he repeats, “What’s the point?”

“What do you mean? The point in what?”

“In reading. In eating. In getting out of this bed. What use am I beyond this room?” He locks eyes with his servant as a tear spills over.

Mortified, more so than Harry expected him to be, Zack leaps off the bed to kneel beside it and clutch Harry’s hands like they’re the lifeline of a drowning man. He stares imploringly into his master’s eyes. Harry sees the tears being blinked away and feels a white hot stab of guilt. He tries to pull away, but Zack doesn’t let him.

“Don’t you say that. Not to me, not after everything we’ve been through together. You are not useless, Harry. You are incredibly smart, and funny, and infinitely kind. You’re a Lord! You can do whatever you want, you can change the world if you wanted to. You have influence, you can use it.”

Harry shakes his head, “No. No. I’m not. I’m not my father’s heir anymore, I’m just my husband’s toy. Ant will inherit, maybe even Dee Dee. I no longer matter to my father, not since he sold me to his surrogate son. I have none of what you say I do. I lost it all.”

“Not forever. You can find yourself again. I promise.”

Harry doubts that very much. It’s been years since he could look at his reflection and recognise the young man looking back. He’s adrift. Untethered. A ship drifting along over the waves with no anchor to keep him steady. He could have made any number of things out of himself before his marriage, now he is nothing more than a househusband, a trophy.

Zack give this hand a final squeeze, before standing to bring the tea over. Harry pushes himself up as much as he dares, before slumping back against the pillows Zack plumps up for him.

“What shall it be today then?”

Harry sips at his cooling tea and wonders which option will take the least effort. “The library, I suppose.” 

“Perhaps you’ll catch a glimpse of the scholar. I think you might like him.” Zack winks.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Didn’t you say he’s banned from the west wing?”

“Yeah, but I doubt anything your father says will stop him if he wants something from there. He seems the kind of guy who’d bend rules if he needed to. He was supposed to be joining your father for breakfast this morning but he was up before Jade was. I’ve already dressed him and he’s in the library now.”

Harry furrows his brow as his valet gets out some more comfortable clothes from the wardrobe for him to wear. “You dressed him?”

“I couldn’t refuse, your father told me to. He’s quite interesting, actually.”

“How so?”

“The scars, for one. They’re everywhere. Not a patch of skin on his that’s not unmarked - except maybe his face. And a handsome face it is, too, if the girls downstairs are to be believed. He’s got his secrets and they aren’t nice and fluffy either. Might be a satisfying quest to find out what he’s hiding. Something to work for.” Zack gives him a meaningful look. He just blinks owlishly back. “Ah, well. He’s not too much of a fan of your father from what I can tell. Will says there might have been a spoon-stabbing incident last night if the man wasn’t so bloody polite. That would’ve been a sight. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

Harry takes Zack’s hand and pulls himself out of bed, thankfully he doesn’t have to move much as Zack undresses and dresses him. The benefits of being rich and entitled and having a valet do not fail to make themselves clear. What would he do if he didn’t have Zack? It’s not worth thinking about, not even for Harry.

Their progress to the west wing entrance of the library is slow going, but Harry is determined to make it to his favourite seat so that he doesn’t have to move for the rest of the day. Lethargy and aches have settled deep in his muscles and bones, not to mention his other pains. Thankfully, Zack knows better than to mention them. The humiliation and embarrassment would be too much for him to bear this early in the morning.

They pass the main entrance to the library, where the scholar is currently researching who knows what. Suddenly, Harry feels an urge to see him. To put a face to the name he doesn’t actually have yet. It’s curiosity, he realises. He doesn’t think he’s been curious about anything recently. Another side effect of simply going through the motions.

He halts Zack easily enough, and hobbles over to the door. Lining up his eye to the crack in the doors, Harry seeks out a glimpse of the man in the small sliver of the room he can see. It’s disappointingly empty of people, though the table is straining under the weight of all the books stacked on top. Maybe he’s at breakfast with his father? Yes, maybe that’s it.

Just as he pulls away, someone enters the frame. A tall, lean man in a shirt and smart trousers, dark hair and the most beautiful eyes, who Harry can only assume must be the scholar. The man sits down at the table, his long fingers flick through the stiff pages. Leaning over to scribble down some notes, the muscles of his back strain against the thin shirt of his back. Harry finds himself captivated by the most mundane things the man does. Something unfurls within him, a warm feeling deep in his belly.

Desire.

“Harry?”

“What’s his name? The scholar.”

“James. James Maxwell-Brown.”

Harry is certain of one thing, and one thing only: James Maxwell-Brown is the most beautiful man he has ever seen.

“Harry? What is it?”

Harry pushes himself away from the door, shaking his head furiously to rid himself of those thoughts. He’s married. He can’t do anything so why even think of it. He takes Zack’s arm again and starts walking to the west wing. Maybe he can drown out the forbidden thoughts with some reading. Yes, that’s what he’ll do. It’s better if he forgets all about James Maxwell-Brown.

So, Harry settles down in his favourite spot in the west wing of the library. It’s a little nook, a deep window seat piled high with cushions and blankets, with an amazing view of the gardens. Tessa, Harry’s mother, used to sit here with him and teach him his letters when he struggled with them; his father thought his time would be better spent having his tutor beat them into his brain with pure determination, but mother knew that an iron fist wasn’t the answer to everything. Harry has such fond memories of her here.

Snow would fall, or the sun would shine, or rain would splash again the window panes as she read Sherlock Holmes mysteries and Tess of the D’Urbervilles aloud to him. As he got older he would read aloud to her. Her final moments were spent with her hand clutching his as he recited the Secret Garden, her favourite book. Some days, when he would turn to the Garden for comfort, he wondered why he needed to read the words on the page, when he could simply play them on repeat in his mind.

This section of the library was filled with her favourites, both fiction and non-fiction, novels and academic diaries and translations of ancient texts. There’s no real organisation to the books, simply the one that came most naturally to Tessa. Wherever she wanted a book was where it went.

Zack pulls out an armchair and sits down next to Harry, not picking out a book yet. “What were you thinking? When you spied on Maxwell-Brown?” Thankfully, Zack’s words aren’t accusing. Harry has no doubt that were his father to say those same words they would be hissed angrily at him.

“I was just curious. I won’t look again. You don’t have to worry about me disobeying my father.”

Zack rolls his eyes, “Don’t be stupid, Harry. Your father is the last thing on my mind. I want to know your impressions of him. What do you think of him?”

Harry stays silent. How can he truly express his feelings about the only man he’s seen in over a year who isn’t related to him? The man is a god, handsome and everything Harry would have desired prior to his marriage. And, obviously, the man has to be intelligent, given his occupation and… well, he just looks smart. How can he properly say how the man makes his heart race and his palms sweat from just one look at him? He’s never spoken to him, and the scholar has never seen him, nor spoken to him. And besides, it’d be treasonous for him to even entertain the thought of any interaction between them.

“He’s okay.”

“Just okay?” Zack raises an eyebrow. “What was he doing?”

“Reading. Well, working, I guess. Nothing interesting.” But Harry would be lying if he said he wouldn’t watch the man simply breath for eternity.

There’s a knock on the door, and Amy, one of the maids steps through. She curtsies politely to Harry, then turns to Zack. “Brendan is looking for you, Zack. I think it’s urgent.”

Zack glances quickly at Harry, who nods to give permission. Zack departs with a nervous smile, Harry notes. He doubts it will be anything positive that makes Brady call for Zack. He’s not sure he wants Zack to relate it to him afterwards.

Zack leaves with Amy, who curtsies again, and Harry is left to his own devices. It’s nothing new, so he’s comfortable as he turns his attention to the words inked on the aged pages of the book. He feels himself sink into the world within the pages. So lovingly described by the author, so immersive and consuming. He almost doesn’t notice the doors from the west wing into the main library being inched open.

Hesitant movement in the corner of his eye draws his attention from the book. At first, Harry thinks it’s Zack returning from whatever Brady wanted, or maybe his father’s valet come to check up on him, or, even more unlikely, his father himself. So, when he looks up and his heat skips a beat or two in his chest, he gasps in surprise at seeing the scholar, James Maxwell-Brown.

He’s not stooped or crouching or looking around furtively as one would expect from a man entering a room he knows is forbidden, instead, Harry is quite pleased to see perfect posture. Chin up, shoulders back, and eyes forward. There’s no hesitance in his steps. He looks like he belongs.

Harry is suddenly, painfully, aware that he is not dressed to be talking to any guests. Certainly, he’s not in his night clothes, nor is he naked, but his loose, partly unbuttoned shirt, the dressing gown and the blanket thrown over his legs are not what his father would call ‘appropriate attire’. Especially compared to the suit the other man was wearing. While not the most expensive suit in the world, nor the most fashionable, he still looked like a model. Or a king. The way he held himself and looked straight at Harry with no hesitation or doubt, suggested a man far greater than his status.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise someone was here.” Says Mr Maxwell-Brown. And, God, even his voice is smooth and gorgeous. Harry breathed out heavily in a shudder, hoping the man was too far away to hear clearly.

When he realises the man is expecting a reply, he pulls himself together. He must look like a fool to this man. This… beautiful, incredible man, with the most breath-taking eyes. “You’re not supposed to be in here. This room is out of bounds to guests.”

The man has the decency to look a little guilty. “I needed a book, and I couldn’t find it in the main room. I thought it might be here. This library is terribly organised, I had expected better from such a famous collection. Not that I’d dare complain about it to the family, it is a wonderful library.” He smiles at Harry as if they share a secret, and he can’t help the small gasp of a laugh that escapes him.

“The system does take a bit of getting used to.” He manages. Marking his page and closing his book, Harry focuses his attention on the other man. Maybe this conversation will continue if he can keep the man’s attention and not bore him.

“So there is a system? That’s nice to know.” Maxwell-Brown laughs, stepping closer to Harry’s spot. He hovers behind the chair Zack had been in, as if waiting for the moment to sit down.

“It was my mother’s system. What book is it you need? Maybe I could help you find it?” Harry sits up straighter.

“I couldn’t possibly intrude, you were busy reading. I’ll work it out.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Is that a challenge?” He quirks an eyebrow and seems to look on Harry with a new light. The butterflies in Harry’s stomach flutter with renewed energy at the sight. This man is looking at him, seeing him. Not the sickly husband of a Lord, nor the sickly son of one. It’s as if he can see through all of that to who Harry is inside.

“No. Just a statement of fact. It would take you years to be comfortable with this library, to be able to find a specific book on your first try. I only know it like the back of my hand because I practically grew up in this room. What book is it?”

“The Persians, by Aeschylus, in the original Greek. I need to compare it to a version I have.”

Harry thought for a moment, “To the left of the door, third shelf up, a couple along from the right. You know ancient Greek?”

The scholar turns to find the book. Harry wonders if he imagines the reluctance with which he moves from the chair. In any case, he retrieves the book with ease and Harry is glad his knowledge of the library hasn’t been found lacking.

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be much of an ancient historian if I didn’t know my fair share of dead languages.” He pauses, his fingers gently brushing the spines of the books on the shelves. “Why is it next to Ovid? Different authors, different cultures, different languages, different topics, different genre. It makes no sense.”

Harry smiles, remembering his mother’s reasons for organising the library this way. “It made sense to my mother. This wing is full of her favourites, and organised by when in her life it became a favourite, and how much of a favourite. There’s other factors, but too many to list now.”

The man returned to Harry’s side, still standing behind Zack’s chair. “So you can only navigate the library if you knew the late Lady Hutchinson well. That’s one way of giving the place a personal touch, I suppose.”

“Perhaps. But she also liked to throw people off. Make them think it followed the same system as the east wing or the central room, then leave them wandering around on a wild goose chase. She used to laugh when people she didn’t like got lost.”

Maxwell-Brown laughs, throwing his head back and showing off rows of pearly white teeth. Harry finds himself laughing along with him, feeling lighter than he has in months. “She sounds like my kind of woman, your mother. I take it you are Lord Tony’s son, Lord Harry?”

“Yes, I am. I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“James Maxwell-Brown. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He executes a neat little bow, one that makes Harry’s cheeks tinge pink. “Your father mentioned you were ill, I hope you’re feeling better.”

“My health is… up and down. You’ve caught me on a good day.” Well, a good day now that you’re here. But it can’t last. At least, not today if he wants the chance to speak again tomorrow. “Speaking of my father, you should probably get back to your side of the library. Zack, my valet, will be coming back soon and if he sees you where you’re not supposed to be, he’ll be obliged to tell my father. I’d hate to think what he’d do.”

“Don’t worry about me, he can’t do anything too terrible. Would any blame fall on you? For speaking to me in the west wing? I wouldn’t want you to be punished.”

“I don’t know.” He lies. “But you should get back to your research.”

“Of course, my lord—”

“It’s just Harry… actually.”

“Of course. Enjoy the rest of your day, Just Harry.” James Maxwell-Brown bows with a smile on his face, and slips out of the library with one last look over his shoulder at Harry. A look that makes Harry swoon and fall back against the wall with a sigh. That was the greatest conversation he had ever had.

The man was incredible. Suave and sophisticated, and most definitely intelligent if he can master ancient Greek enough to read one of Aeschylus’ plays, renowned for being overly flowery and elaborate. James - Harry whispers his name reverently - was exactly the kind of man Harry had envisioned being one of his suitors many years ago. Who would lead him through dances and walks through the grounds, who would flirt and court him, and listen as he rambled on about what he planned to do with his life.

Harry wasn’t sure, but he thinks their conversation just now might count as flirting, in the right light. It certainly made him feel better to think it. He knows James might simply have been polite because of who Harry’s father and husband are, but he pushes that thought firmly away. James likes him, likes talking to him. Maybe he’ll come back later, or tomorrow, and they’ll talk again - if Zack leaves that is. Harry can’t wait.

Maybe he’ll join the family for dinner and they can talk over a candlelit meal. He’d be able to see James is a smarter suit and tie, one more appropriate for dining in a Lord’s house, and what a mouth-watering sight that would be.

But they wouldn’t be the only people at the table. Harry’s father, step-mother and his husband. Maybe even his step-mother’s family, who enjoy arriving unannounced at dinner, annoying Mrs Barnes downstairs to no end, and stirring up trouble, would be there. Harry doesn’t think he could manage a minute in a room with Sinead and her fiancée. Lily is tolerable to a certain extent, but she’s not familiar and he knows she gets uncomfortable at dinner, too.

With other people there, they wouldn’t be able to talk, and certainly not about the kind of things Harry wants to talk about. Ste would try to keep them apart, and his father would look on disapprovingly. They would all know what Harry is thinking, he’s never been the most skilled liar, and they’ll stop the relationship in its tracks. It won’t go anywhere, Harry is married and even if he weren’t, James’ social standing is too low for it to be an option; but it would be nice to know what it would be like. To be flirted with properly, to be courted, and spoken to. Harry won’t go to dinner tonight; he won’t let whatever it is between him and James be taken away from him too soon.

The door to the west wing opens - not James’ door, Zack’s - and his valet returns, looking rather flustered and tense. Harry’s mood darkens. This will be nothing good. Zack sits down heavily, huffing out of his nose. Fists gripping the arms of the chair.

“Zack? What did he want?”

Startled, Zack looks up, as if he forgot he had left Harry there. “It’s nothing. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“But I am worrying, because you’re clearly affected by it. What is it?”

“It’s… Brendan was just warning me that Lord Ste is in a bad mood today. He’s not a big fan of our guest. He thought you might want to know.”

Harry doesn’t know what he expected. Brady and Zack have little in common aside from their jobs, and from what Zack has told him, they do not get on like a house on fire. It was guaranteed to be something about Ste. So why does he feel like his stomach is sinking?

Oh, yes. Because his husband is possessive and jealous, despite having a not so secret affair with his valet, and would not be pleased if he knew what Harry was thinking about James Maxwell-Brown. Zack is just confirming what he already knows deep down.

“Yes, thank you.” Harry mumbles, turning his attention back to his book, the warmth in his chest replaced by a cold dread.

His eyes do not leave the pages until the sun is sat low on the horizon and Zack gently touches his shoulder and brings him to reality. The evening dressing gong has been rung, and the family and their guest will be getting ready for dinner, whether Harry joins them or not.

Zack leads Harry back to his room, and the evening progresses just as it did the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that. Zack brings up the dinner Mrs Barnes carefully prepared for him, and Harry picks lazily at it until he gives up and slips under the cover. Zack surveys the room one last time before slipping out with a quiet “good night, Harry.”

But Harry doesn’t have a good night. He lays in bed, too awake to go to sleep yet too tired to get up and do something. Wind whistles past the windows, and the slight breeze coming through the gaps around the window panes shifts the curtains. Footsteps on the carpeted hallways and the creak of floorboards above him keep his mind from slipping into the calm, numbness of sleep.

He is wide awake when Ste returns, having changed into his night clothes in his connecting dressing room. He keep this breathing steady as Ste gets under the covers and hauls Harry’s body closer. Kisses and bruises are sucked fiercely onto his neck as hands roam and prowl lower and lower. Harry wishes he had fallen asleep hours ago.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly fluff this time, so enjoy because it goes tits up next chapter xx

James used to despise liars. Not knowing a person’s true motives put him on the back foot and made his hands shake. He supposes it might be his father’s fault; the man always kept James on his toes, waiting to jump out at him around every corner and watch him squirm. James never wanted to make people wary around him, never wanted to be his father. And yet, here he is, a filthy liar.

Lord Harry Hay is the most beautiful, intelligent, sweet man alive, and James is keeping secrets. He’s only known him a day and he feels sick at the thought of everything he is keeping hidden. How will Harry react when he find out? He won’t understand. Such an innocent, young man like him has never experienced life’s hardships or tortures. James’ life would be so foreign to him; he would be rejected in an instant. It’s inevitable, so he might as well make the most of their relationship while it lasts.

Of course, James has not forgotten the ring on Harry’s finger, or the particular surname he has. The man is married, taken, and yet James can’t deny the feelings stirring deep within him. It’s attraction, something he hasn’t felt, especially this powerfully, in years. Getting to know every fact of Harry’s personality, every second of his life and every inch of his body would be the greatest gift. James has never been one to listen to someone else’s rules, in fact, he resents it. He might as well see where it goes with Harry.

So, the morning after his first meeting with Harry, James wakes earlier than usual, though that was particularly early to begin with. He forgoes ringing for Loveday, his valet for the stay, and dresses himself quickly. While he understands a valet’s purpose, he is used to serving himself and it will take some getting used to having his every whim catered to. And besides, Loveday, he realised yesterday, is Harry’s valet. James is unsure why Lord Tony would so nonchalantly give away his son’s servant to a guest when there are plenty of footmen to spare, but he won’t take the man away from his true master.

Slipping down to the library, James takes a peak through the doors to the west wing, and sees Harry’s spot empty and the room too dark to be occupied. He shouldn’t be surprised, he is awake at the crack of dawn, but like a popped balloon, he feels deflated. He’ll just have to wait for Harry, and focus on his research.

That is easier said than done. For as he attempts to translate the ancient Greek play, his attention drifts to the door. His ears strain to hear the sounds of Harry coming to the library. His mind tricks him into thinking Harry is behind those doors. What once captured his mind so completely and kept him from even thinking about anything that didn’t pertain to his research, was now a mere placeholder for a certain, handsome young gentleman.

James is barely keeping it together when a soft knock on the door to the west wing interrupts his forced focus. It must be a figment of his imagination, he convinces himself. After all the imaginings his mind has conjured up over the past few hours, it must be. Until a second, still soft, knock sounds.

Containing his smile, James opens the door hesitantly; it could still be Lord Tony or his son-in-law, or even one of the servants come to call him for lunch. He doesn’t want to reveal his secrets to anyone but Harry. But when the door opens to Harry, wrapped in a thick blanket, tired and swaying on the spot, his grin erupts across his face.

“Harry. Just Harry.” He croons, pleased at the blush colouring the younger man’s face. “What can I do for you?”

“Um… I hope I’m not interrupting. I enjoyed our talk yesterday and wondered if you’d like to, maybe, sit with me again and talk… If I’m not disturbing you, of course.” Harry asks. Excessively polite, just as James expected from a high-born gentleman, but as nervous as a bride on her wedding night. He breathed out shakily and blushed a deeper shade of pink.

“You could never disturb me, Harry. I’d be honoured and very pleased to sit with you.”

Harry shuffles back into the west wing and sits gingerly in his spot by the window. James can’t help but stare at the angelic picture he makes, framed by the sun and sat so demurely. If he were an artist, Harry would be his muse. He deserved to be painted, framed in pure gold and hung up on the wall of a gallery so all could admire his beauty. But James wasn’t a painter, so Harry’s looks were just for him.

James takes a seat in the armchair, relaxing into the plush upholstery. Clearly the west wing has the better furniture.

“What is your research exactly? You said you were an ancient historian, but that’s still a very broad subject.” Harry starts.

“I like all ancient history and I could definitely tell you all about the Minoans and the Greeks, but my speciality is Persia. There aren’t many Persian sources, so everything we have comes from other civilisations at the time, my thesis is about trying to gain a clear understanding of what life in the Persian Empire was really like.”

“So you have to strip away all the bias and compare sources. Sounds fascinating.” James actually believes Harry when he claims interest in the idea. Unlike James’ siblings, he isn’t nodding and humming agreement at intervals, nor is he ignoring him in favour of watching paint dry. Even Alfie couldn’t pay attention, his interests being more traditionally scientific. It’s refreshing to speak to someone who listens and engages. “It must be hard, getting all the possible sources together. Is that why you needed to come here? For our library?”

“Yes, it is. This library houses some rare first editions of translations, some I can’t get elsewhere in the country, and others I need to compare with other copies I found in other libraries. It was turning into a logistical nightmare before your father offered to let me stay and make use of this dragon’s hoard of books.”

“Will you be staying long in the dragon’s lair?”

James’ breath catches. There’s something in Harry’s words. Does he wish for James to stay for a long time? The sly but hesitant smile on the man’s face confirms it. “As long as I can. I’m not afraid of dragons.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to come up with some more distractions, then, won’t we.”

“I suppose we will.”

Harry asks more about his research and education, and James launches into a detailed account of his tutoring. Excessively expensive private education, followed by several years spent studying law at Oxford because it’s what his father wanted, before rebelling and switching to his true passion - ancient history. He regales Harry with stories of all the universities and institutions he has visited, and all the exotic tales he learnt there. Harry is bewitched, on the edge of his seat, a grin on his face, as he soaks up the information like a sponge. He asks questions and keep the conversation fresh. While mostly one sided, James is sure that tomorrow, it will be more even.

“Is your life only contained within the walls of a library, or do you have other interests?” Harry has curled up more comfortably on the window seat, and James has pulled his chair closer. If he stretches a hand, he could easily capture Harry’s own, or reach up to cup his cheek. Anything just to touch this angel.

He chuckles, “Not really. I don’t have much in the way of hobbies… or friends. My life is a library.”

“That sounds sad. Though if you’re comfortable with your life the way it is, then you shouldn’t change. But, what about family?”

“Plenty of family, but I’m not particularly close with any of them right now. I’m the black sheep. The outcast.”

The grandfather clock in the corner of the room strikes six and Harry’s smile vanishes.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“S’Avage will ring the dressing gong soon. You’ll have to get ready for dinner, else someone will come looking for you and it’d be best if you weren’t caught in here.”

“Ah, yes. I almost forgot the west wing is forbidden. Will you be joining us for dinner - if you’re feeling well enough, that is.”

Harry looks away, fidgeting with his hands. “Not tonight. Sorry.” 

“There’s no need to apologise. You’ll be missed, though.” Harry raises an eyebrow and James amends, “I’ll miss you.”

With great reluctance, James stands up, stretching out all the aches in his body, before inclining his head to Harry. He cracks a smile, and blushes as he says, “You know what they say - absence make the heart grow fonder.”

“It certainly does.”

James steps back into the main wing of the library, turning back to Harry, whose eyes, he is glad to note, have not left him. They lock eyes, and James is overwhelmed by the emotions he sees. At least he knows his own feelings are not unrequited.

He shuts the door, and turns to the mountains of books and papers piled up on the tables. Suddenly he has no motivation to pour through those stiff, weathered pages anymore. When he arrived, he had been focused entirely on contents of the library, but now his mind is brimming with images of Harry.

Of his smile. His laugh. His eyes. The sound of his voice and his laugh ring in his ears. Every little mannerism that makes Harry who he is, is already imprinted in James’ mind. And he loves each one. It hits him, now, that this is more than some simple crush; this is full on infatuation, bordering on obsession, and he has only known the man a few days. He has to get this under control.

*

He does not get it under control. For the very next day, when his ears finally pick up the sound of Harry settling into the west wing, he peers through the crack in the door and sighs at the sight of Harry at the window again. The ache in his chest as he sat through a laborious dinner with Lord and Lady Hutchinson and the rest of their family, without the comfort of conversation with Harry was finally gone.

He sees the valet tucking a blanket over his master’s legs, and fretting over him while Harry looks blankly across the room. Something is wrong. For the first time, he believes Lord Tony. Harry doesn’t look well; he looks like a shell of the man James spoke to yesterday. Wrapped up his dressing gown and the blankets Loveday keeps piling on top of him, he looks like a child; so young and innocent, James wouldn’t be surprised if his father wanted to keep him guarded and hidden away, kept like a precious jewel. James knows he would want to, too.

Loveday hovers like a mother hen for a while longer until Harry focuses enough to tell him to leave. Once the door closes, James opens his. He watches Harry smile and his face brighten when he spots him.

“How long have you been waiting behind that door, James?” He even sounds ill, but the way he looks at James is enough to allay his worries.

“Too long.” James gently takes Harry’s hand, and, while looking deep into the other’s eyes, softly kisses his knuckles. He lingers, letting his breath fan across the pale skin, and kisses again. Harry’s breathing has sped up; his pulse racing under James’ fingers. “I have missed you.”

It takes Harry a moment to gather himself. “We’ll have to make up for lost time.”

And they do. James amuses his companion with stories of his time at university. In return, Harry even reveals some his adventures as a child - adventuring through the grounds with Zack Loveday, who would one day become his valet, pretending to be pirates or knights or even elves, in one particularly hilarious story. It involves several silk night gowns, copious amounts of moss and misguided attempts at talking to rabbits.

They exchange tales: of baby Alfie putting his father’s favourite cufflinks in his mouth; of Liberty, one of the Hutchinson maids’, attempts at singing opera; of James’ siblings, Ellie and Nathan, staying out until three in the morning and their very close escape from Grandmother Tabby; of Ant and Dee Dee, and their best friend Rose, winding up their nanny, Amy.

They trade stories well into the evening, so focused on each other that they almost miss the chimes of the grandfather clock. Harry startles when he realises how late it is, and he urges James to go before someone reprimands him for trespassing.

Naturally, as James has come to expect, the evenings spent in the company of Lord Hutchinson and his dinner guests are a test in endurance. How much inane chatter from Lady Diane’s step-daughter can he stand before attempting to drown himself in wine? How much gossip about noble families from Lord Tony until he starts to imagine the man choking on port and cigars? How many burning glares from Harry’s husband across the drawing room can he bear before forfeiting his win at cards and departing for bed?

As he prepares for bed, ideas for tomorrow’s conversation run amok in his mind. He almost asks Loveday about Harry’s favourite things, but stops himself. He’s not supposed to be going in the west wing, which means he’s not supposed to be talking to Harry while in there. It’s a secret.

The next day, he forces himself to work on his thesis. As much as he would love to delay his research indefinitely just to be able to talk with Harry forever, it would look suspicious. He mustn’t give Lord Tony reason to doubt him, not when the son-in-law already seems to hate him. The feeling is mutual.

Grateful for the interruption when Harry calls for him from the other room, James practically skips to meet him. He bows his head politely, and kisses the back of Harry’s hand again, enjoying this one touch they can have. The other man still flushes pink at the attention.

“James, do you ride?”

“I find it invigorating, but I haven’t had the chance to indulge in recent years. I take it you must be able to, from what your father says the Hutchinson’s are a hunting family.”

“I enjoy the riding more than the hunting. The wind in my hair and just going as far and as fast as I can. My father and… Ste, they go hunting almost every week. Not that they always bring something back, but they try.”

“God loves a trier.” Replies James sardonically, “I’m not keen on people who find amusement in chasing down a defenceless animal and killing it. Especially when out numbered. People have horses, weapons and dogs, and the superior numbers while the prey have only themselves. I prefer my battles to be more even - makes the victory even sweeter that way.”

“My father will inevitably ask you to join one of his hunts.”

“Then I will politely decline.”

“And if I asked you to go riding with me one day?”

“I would eagerly accept. I would love to go riding with you, Harry.” The thought of riding with Harry, breathless and sweaty, possibly muddy, with the rocking of a horse between his legs; James is hot under the collar already. From what he can tell, by how Harry shifts in his seat, his companion is too.

They leave the topic of riding for the moment, and turn to their favourite things. James has never revealed as much of himself to anyone the way he has to Harry. For so long he has been a closed book, a marble statue. And yet now, he has bared his soul to this young man, whom he has only known a few days. He doesn’t even think his siblings know this much about him. If he’s being honest, he thinks Harry feels exactly the same. James’ assumption was right; Harry is opening up more as the days go by. Snippets of his life that James savours.

“You must have been very close to your mother. I’m sorry she’s gone.”

Harry looks away, tears in his eyes. Heart aching, James brave the distance and reaches out to hold Harry’s and tightly in his. Thankfully, he doesn’t pull away; he grips harder than James had expected and smiles in thanks. “I was. I still am, in a way. The library was her favourite place, that’s why I spend so much time here. And I make sure to visit her grave often. She was my favourite parent. I’m not that close to my father. Sometimes, I wish I had spent less time with her and more time with him, because we barely talk now and we have nothing in common. But I wouldn’t give up the time I had with her. I love her.”

“I’m sure she appreciates that, and is looking after you. What about Ste? How did you meet and end up getting married? You’re still quite young.” James hates to bring up the husband, but it seems pertinent to know. To know how deep their relationship goes and how hard it will be to take Harry away from him, body and soul.

Harry’s face falls, and he turns away from James. Loosening his grip, he lets James’ hand fall. “I don’t want to talk about that right now. It’s late. The gong will be rung soon. You should leave before someone sees.”

James takes his cue, standing up and bowing like a gentleman to a Lord, and leaves. He dares to glance back, but Harry is gazing out of the window. A python winds itself around his heart and squeezes it in a death grip. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He can only hope to win back Harry’s affections.

As he prepares for dinner with the Hutchinson’s yet again, Loveday has noticed his morose mood, but refrains from commenting. One of the things James likes about the valet is that he can remain completely professional and quiet. Of course, James suspects he tells Harry everything, given how close he knows they are. And he will be telling Harry all about their scholarly guest’s dark mood. A part of James, bitter and dark, hopes it will make Harry feel guilty knowing he is responsible.

Loveday finishes early and instead of waiting in his room until an appropriate time, James heads straight downstairs. Hopefully the footmen will have laid out some alcohol in the drawing room that he can deplete.

He passes the Lord’s study on his way to the drawing room and raised voices catch his attention. The dark cloud hanging over his head dissipates momentarily at the prospect of overhearing something interesting. From what he can make out, casually leaning against the wall and looking through the crack in the doors, Lord Tony and his son-in-law - the husband - are having a row.

“This is a serious allegation, Ste! The family’s reputation is on the line!” Yells Lord Tony, red-faced with veins bulging in his neck.

However, Lord Ste isn’t as riled up, rolling his eyes at the lord of the manor. “So what? We lose a few invites to parties and dinners - it’s not the end of the world, Tony!” As the man speaks, James notes a rough accent coming through in his anger. “We won’t give in to the demands of that lowlife! Once he realises we’re not gonna give in, then he’ll back down! He’s a coward.”

“And what if he follows through - there’ll be no stain on him, but on us? We’ll be ruined. Just think of little Ant and Dee Dee, and your niece, Rose. Think of their reputations - what kind of suitors they’d attract if they’re tainted by this! And what of Harry? It’s his name on the line as well as yours! It’s not just dinner parties, Ste. It’s status and name, and good connections for the children, and business prospects - the history of this family could be destroyed by one word from that man. And don’t forget he says he has evidence.”

Ste scoffs, “Evidence? A few letters. Forged! No one will believe him.”

“No one smart. But if he sells it to a newspaper, then it’s as good as true!”

The husband has nothing to say to that. Scowling, he clenches his fists at his side. He paces for a moment, while Tony calms his furious breathing, and storms away from Lord Tony.

Curiosity fully sated, James sneaks away to the drawing room, where he pretends to Lady Diane that he has just come down and hasn’t just eavesdropped on her husband and son-in-law. He smiles and nods and toasts and politely declines an offer to go hunting, while his mind is churning over the gossip and intrigue. And what to do about Harry.

*

Once again, the next morning, James dresses himself even before the sun has risen. From the wardrobe, he pulls out a thick coat, scarf and gloves. He hadn’t expected to be going out in the cold much and bringing them had been more of a ‘just in case’ situation, but he’s glad he has them now.

Slipping out of his room, James heads down the corridor to the servants stairs, and starts the decent down. He knows it’s uncouth and simply not done, but it’s the simplest way outside, when the front door most certainly won’t be open at this time. He passes some rather confused maids and footmen, but he tips his hat and continues on his way.

Once out in the brisk late autumn air, James heads into town, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Thankfully, the village isn’t far and he reaches it just as the shops begin to open properly for the day. He manages to make his purchases quickly and hurry back up to the estate. He isn’t a fan of the cold weather, preferring the cosy confines of a library, and wants to be somewhere warm before the cold reaches his bones.

He returns straight to the library, and staggers back a few steps when he sees Harry waiting for him. For a moment, he thinks it’s a dream. Harry, not wrapped up in blankets, in the main wing of the library, at nine o’clock in the morning, staring at him with such anxiety in his eyes. Like a really sad puppy.

“Harry? What are you doing here?”

Harry steps forward, and takes James’ hands in his. “I wanted to apologise for being rude to you yesterday. It was an honest question, and I reacted badly. I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about how to make it up to you. Please forgive me.”

He gazes softly at the younger man, in awe of just how incredible he is. James expected to have to beg on his knees, or at least plead his case, he never even entertained the thought that Harry would apologise.

“Of course I forgive you. In fact, I, too, was going to apologise. I even bought you these.” James hands over the small box of sweets. “I hope I’m not being too forward.”

Harry’s smile could light an entire theatre, “No, never. I love it.”

Harry takes James’ hand and leads him through to the west wing, where they settle into their usual seats. The younger man more at ease no that he’s surrounded by his usual blankets. It’s a little quirk that warms James’ heart.

“Personally, I’m not a fan of liquorice, but you said it was your favourite.”

“It is. I haven’t had it in so long. No one else in the family likes it, apart from my mother. She would survive solely on liquorice if she could manage it. Thank you, James. And your apology is most definitely accepted.”

They talk, once more, until the sun goes down, never breaking apart long enough for silence to fall. This time, they missed the chimes fo the grandfather clock and the echoing knells of the gong. Somewhere along the way, James migrated to the window seat, and now there’s barely a hair’s breadth between the two men. Harry was clearly waning a little, having woken up far earlier than he’s used to, and rested heavily against the window, one hand in James’, delicately tracing lines across his palm.

So that is how Loveday and Osborne, Lord Tony’s valet, find them at seven o’clock, having searched high and low for both men.

“Harry?” Loveday cries, alerting the men to the servants’ presence. They break apart. James leaps to his feet and stands guard in front of Harry, who yanks himself out of a daze.

While Loveday’s eyes are wide and his expression open, Osborne is stiff as a board and glaring. “Mr Maxwell-Brown, sir, His Lordship requests your presence at dinner tonight. If you will come with me, I will dress you for the evening instead of Mr Loveday.” The valet indicates for him to exit the room, and James does so. He is in serious trouble, best not to protest too much and risk being tossed out in the middle of the night.

As James and the valet depart, he casts a backward glance at Harry. The young lord ignores his valet in favour of watching James leave, regret and sadness in his eyes. As if he’s already lost him. James vows to never lose Harry again. One night thinking they were over is enough for a lifetime.

Osborne closes the door with a bow to Harry, “My Lord.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a very nice chapter, you will most definitely hate Ste and Tony by the end. Triggering content ahead. Once again, please don't read if this is not to your liking xxx

To say that dressing for dinner was the most awkward experience of James’ life, would be to distract from the awkwardness of the dinner that followed.

Helped into his suit jacket by a man constantly shooting daggers at his back, and his front, and having to look Osborne in the eye as he fastened the cufflinks and know that the man is plotting his downfall. James knows for certain, as the valet leaves ahead of him, that Lord Tony will know everything, or as much as the valet knows, by the time they sit down.

James follows after Osborne a moment later. His mind races. Will he be sent away? Banned from the library? Lord Tony could effectively ruin his life and career if he wanted to; James had no idea exactly how serious an infraction this was. And what would happen to Harry? Would his father blame him, or would he be cast as the innocent bystander in this?

Loveday passes James in the corridor, head down and scowl set firmly in place. The scholar catches the servant by his arm and turns to face him.

“Harry? Is he okay? What’s going on?”

The valet glares at James, as if he is the root of all evil. Such burning hatred in those eyes, but also fear. But it’s not fear of James. It’s for someone else. “You weren’t supposed to go in the west wing. That was the only rule. And you broke it, and you had to drag Harry into it, too.” Loveday spits, upper lip curling. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”

James’ eye catches on what the other man is carrying - smart clothes, meant for dining in. Harry’s clothes.

“Harry’s coming to dinner.” He can’t help the warm ball of fluff in his chest at the thought of seeing Harry again. He felt as giddy as a school child.

“Darren snitched to His Lordship about finding you and Harry in the west wing. He’s requested you both attend dinner. And he wants to see you in the study beforehand.” Loveday replies ominously.

“I know what I did was against the rules, and I accept my consequences. But His Lordship wouldn’t take it out on Harry, would he?”

Loveday doesn’t answer. He looks away and heads down the corridor to Harry’s room. Disturbed, with his warm and fuzzy feeling replaced by cold, hard dread, James steels himself for what is coming next. He’s the great James Nightingale, and he can take whatever Lord Tony throws at him and more. He suffered through his father’s ‘parenting’, after all.

Puffing out his chest and holding his head up high, James makes his way elegantly down the stairs and nods to the footman standing guard outside of the study. The young man lets him in - James notices how uncomfortable and scared the man is, much like Loveday - and departs soon after to give them privacy.

The inside of the study, which James previously saw through a crack in the door, is decorated in rich reds and browns, giving a thoroughly cosy atmosphere. Except for now. The blazing fire roaring in the grate cast Lord Anthony Hutchinson as the villain, nursing a tumbler of scotch and gazing into the fiery depths. Thankfully, the husband, Ste, isn’t here.

“My Lord.”

For a moment, James thinks Lord Tony might not have heard him. The man continues to stare at the fire, taking a sip of his drink every so often. When James realises that he has heard him and that this is a ploy to catch James on the wrong foot - a tactic often employed by James’ father - he refuses to show weakness.

Instead of fidgeting in place, waiting for the Lord to face him, James starts to stroll about the room, admiring and toying with the trinkets on display. A crystal paperweight. Books on herbs and plants and cooking. Framed photographs of the family, including one of Ste and Harry, on their wedding day by the looks of it. Harry looks happy, far happier than he has in the past few days. Arm in arm with his husband, happiness clear in his eyes despite the grey nature of photographs. It gives James pause.

When James plays with a letter opener, spinning it around his fingers, Tony finally addresses him.

“You can put that down.”

With his back facing the man, James raises a brow and the corner of his mouth tugs upwards. Now he has the upper hand. Messing with someone else’s things is always guaranteed to get on their nerves.

He turns around, and bows politely. He fights his smile at the way Tony grips the glass hard. “My Lord.”

“I gave you one rule - do not go into the west wing - and you disregard it! I thought this research opportunity meant the world to you? And you throw it away! I would be well within my rights to have you thrown out on our arse right now, and have you discredited by your university.”

“In my defence, Your Lordship, you told me not to go in there because of valuable artefacts you didn’t want ruined - and you can check my things, I haven’t stolen or damaged anything.” James says clearly and calmly. But the Lord Tony’s ruddy pallor only darkens.

“I don’t mean artefacts, you imbecile.” He scoffs. “You call yourself a scholar. I mean my son!”

“Your son? I don’t understand.”

“Darren, my valet, told me what he saw, and Zack can back him up. You were… fraternising with my son - my married son! Not to mention his health. You were to stay out of the west wing because it’s his favourite place to go and I didn’t want some grubby, money-grabbing, bookworm disturbing him when he’s so fragile! You would take advantage of him.”

James’ composure shatters. “No! I would never.” The thought of doing that to Harry, of stealing his innocence and betraying his trust makes him feel sick. He even ignores the insults thrown his way.

“You swear to me that your hands didn’t stray? That your intentions are pure?” Lord Tony sneers. He must see something in James’ face, the truth behind his eyes, for he spits and turns away, pacing. “I could kill you where you stand.”

James hesitates, before cautiously approaching the Lord. “Your son isn’t as weak as you think he is. Harry is perfectly capable of sending someone away when they aren’t wanted.”

“Then I suppose he is as to blame as you are. He is happily married and knows better than to even entertain any kind of relationship between the two of you. Friends or otherwise.”

Oh, this was not what James wanted. He had wanted to defend Harry to his father but never wanted him to be blamed. Of course, Lord Tony’s point is valid, but James would take a sword to the gut before he left Harry defenceless.

“My Lord, I swear to you, I will do whatever you ask. I will stay away from your son; I will stick to the main wing of the library and focus all of my attentions on my research. Then, once I am done, I will leave and you will see neither hide nor hair of me ever again. Just don’t blame your son.”

Tony spins around, face a twisted scowl, “If my son is to blame, then he will be blamed. Make your mind up - is he too weak to fend off your lecherous advances, or not? You will leave. Tonight. Don’t bother staying for dinner.”

Lord Tony storms past him to reach for the pulley by the fireplace and summon the butler, when James puts his foot down.

“I know about the blackmail.”

He feels rather than sees the man stop dead in his tracks. Oppressive silence falls between them. The heavy sound of breathing and the crackle of the fire is all that can be heard. James really hopes this will work.

Slowly, Tony turns around. “What?”

“I know about the blackmail.” James repeats, still not turning to face the lord.

“You know. How?”

“My methods are my own. But I can help you.”

Lord Tony rushes to stand in front of James, his expression desperate a pleading. “How?”

“Let me stay and use your library for my thesis. I will keep away from Harry, and stick to your rules. But if you give me everything you have on your blackmailer I might be able to work something out. A contract, an agreement, or even counter blackmail - I will do everything I can to get you out of this mess.”

“And how do I know you won’t go to the press with what I tell you?”

“I’ll sign a non-disclosure agreement. Just trust me to get this fixed.”

Lord Tony mulls it over. He refills his glass, and pours one out for James, too. Which James takes as agreement in itself. “Very well. I’m not sure what you already know, but I will tell you everything so that we are on the same page.

“An old acquaintance of the family - one John Paul McQueen, of the Baron McQueens - claims to be in possession of certain letters. Letters that, if released to the papers as he is threatening, could ruin our family’s reputation. There are countless consequences, too many for me to list. But it would be disastrous. He wants money. His family is large and they aren’t very… economical. He’s a smart man, and he runs his land efficiently, but they’re running out of money. Right now, his demands are manageable, but if he keeps asking for more, we won’t be able to survive.”

“What’s in the letters? What exactly is he threatening you with?”

“Letters of a… sexual nature. Written by Harry from before he married Ste. They suggest that he was damaged goods when they married.”

James masks his surprise beneath a cool veneer of professionalism. He knew the threats had something to do with Harry’s reputation, but he never expected sweet, innocent Harry to have written sexual letters. Because these certainly weren’t love letters. Love letters, full of sweet nothings and poems, were normal, even expected of someone as young as Harry. These letters must be more obscene and dirty. At that moment, James vows to reveal the letters as fakes, no matter the consequences.

“Are you sure Harry wrote any letters to McQueen? He could be bluffing.”

Lord Tony looks at James as if he were a stupid child. “Harry knows nothing about John Paul’s blackmail. Do you really think I’d tell my ill, fragile son about this - it could send him over the edge.”

“I just need to know the whole story.”

“That is the whole story. Now, I’ll have my lawyer draw up a non-disclosure agreement first thing in the morning, and I expect you to sign and I expect you start working on fixing this mess. Fix this, and I’ll forget about what Darren and Zack saw.”

“Yes, my Lord.” James bows, knowing a dismissal when he hears one.

“Very good. Let’s go in to dinner. Finally.”

Lord Tony leads the way out of the study and to the dining room, where the rest of the family are already assembled waiting impatiently for them. The room is decorated just as it has been every other evening James has dined there - low candles down the table, light glinting off the gold enamelled dishes and silver cutlery. Every opportunity to subtle display the Hutchinson wealth has been taken.

The only difference to the room, is that the place usually left empty for Harry, is now occupied. In an ill fitting suit that hangs off his frame, as if he had lost a lot of weight since he wore it last, Harry sits stiffly in his seat, eyes firmly on the candle in front of him. His gaze shifts to James only for a second, before he returns to staring blankly at the flickering fire.

His husband is sat next to him, and his glare is less discreet. James feels it raise the hairs on his neck. As he moves to take his seat between Tony and the loudmouthed Sinead, James sees Ste’s iron strong grip on Harry’s upper thigh.

“What is he doing here?” Ste spits, leaning forward in his seat, like a big cat ready to pounce.

Tony takes his seat calmly, looking exhausted. “I’m letting him stay, under new conditions. He’ll be helping us with our… delicate problem.” Ste gets the hint and settles back in his seat. Next to him, Harry shows no indication of knowing what they were talking about, or of having heard them at all.

“Can we eat, already? I’m wasting away here!” Sinead shouts, and already James wants this to end.

Tony ignores her in favour of signalling to the butler to start serving the food. Thankfully, Sinead and the rest of the party refrain from talking throughout the first course and on to the second. James eats mechanically to fill the silence and the hole in his stomach. Harry, meanwhile picks at his food, barely tasting a morsel. How is no one else seeing how sick and tired he looks?

“So.” Sinead starts, licking her lips and grinning like a lioness. “What were you two doing in the library, eh?” The way she looks James up and down, and glances at Harry across the table, it is made abundantly clear who she is talking about. It’s all the excuse James needs to stare at Harry, who still won’t look anyone in the eye.

“Sinead.” Lady Diane reprimands, embarrassed at her lowborn relatives’ manners. James has always found it odd that Lord Tony Hutchinson would marry a woman of low birth, especially after his first wife’s incredible pedigree and the importance of reputation.

“What? We all want to know. Is our delicate little flower,” she says mockingly, “having an affair with the scholar or not? Ste, you deserve so much better than all this, you know. I called it, way back when, that he would betray you. Pretending to be all fragile and sweet, when really he’s just a filthy, disgusting, cheating househusband, who think she can get away with anything because he’s ill—”

“Sinead!” Diane interjects. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.” With a wave of her hand, Diane has her relative’s glass snatched away by the footman. “Perhaps we can start on the dessert?” She looks pointedly at the butler, who rushes to comply.

Dessert is served. Despite the sweetness hitting his tongue, to James, the lemon meringue tastes like ash. A single tear rolls down Harry’s cheek while his husband leans back in his chair, amused by Sinead’s insults. James clenches his fists and struggles not to bend his spoon. He knew the family were irritants, and simply something to endure during his stay, but he could never have imagined them to be cruel, especially to one of their own. Neither Ste nor Tony defend Harry. Sinead still looks ready to launch into another tirade. Not even Scott, whom James had found to be kind if not a little bit dim, is on Harry’s side.

Of course, to an outsider, what they did in the library could be construed as inappropriate given Harry’s marital status and James’ apparent class. Naturally, they would be painted as the villains. But if they even stopped to listen to their arguments they would find it to be innocent. James was a companion to Harry, listened when he spoke and entertained him with anecdotes when he was silent. While he might harbour some more than innocent affection for Harry, he never acted on them, he’s not completely sure whether they were reciprocated. Harry could be naive, still in love with husband, and unaware that he might have led James on. The situation is far from black and white.

They finish dessert uneventfully, but, despite the incredibly late hour, Lord Tony insists that they move into the drawing room for coffee. He refuses to offer his guest any port, which was to be expected. As they stand, Ste pulls Harry impossibly close by a possessive arm around his waist. Harry doesn’t protest.

In the drawing room as they are served their final drinks of the night, James feels the urge to kill everyone and flee the country. Preferably with Harry on his arm. Everyone is so frustratingly oblivious and self-absorbed. Already Lord Tony is discussing the merits of farming animals on their land with Ste, who still hasn’t removed himself from Harry’s side.

After such a long day, James sympathises with the footmen, who barely seem able to stay on their feet, let alone balance their silver trays. He feels himself sinking into the plush armchair, his eyes drooping no matter how hard he tries to force himself to be alert.

“—Not like it’s the first time he’s been unfaithful! You all treat him like he’s something breakable!” Sinead’s offensive screech jolts James to attention. Sinead has stood up, waving her tea cup in the air and splashing the room with hot coffee. “But he’s a sneak - he’s the reason we’re in this battle with the McQueens! What he did - flirting and batting his eyelashes, leading on John Paul - he’ll do it again now! Just wait. Soon this stranger will be demanding money as well, promising to sell their story to the papers if doesn’t get the chance to milk us for every penny we have! Why can’t you all see?”

Diane attempts to soothe and coddle the frenzied woman, muttered calming words. As she ushers her closer to the door and to bed, James looks to Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry, meek and bleary-eyed, looks to his father.

“Please, may I be excused?”

To James and Harry’s surprise, Lord Tony shakes his head. “Sinead’s right. We do treat you like you’re still a child. So, if you’re well enough to… ‘talk’ with Mr Maxwell-Brown in the library, then you’re well enough to drink coffee and talk to your family. That’s final, Harry, no buts.”

Harry raises no objections. He resigns himself to staying by his husband’s side and carefully accepts the half-filled cup of coffee one of the footmen hands him.

James seethes inside. This family is worse than he had believed possible - worse even than his own. At least his family were honest about who they were. Mac never hid his bloodied fists and venom-soaked words behind a genial facade. His blood boils. His jaw grinding so hard he fears his teeth may be crushed into dust. Fists clenched tight enough for his nails to draw blood.

Exuding an aura of calm, James moves to leave the room, hoping his murderous urges might recede when away from this bloody family. But his arm is caught by Lord Tony holding him back.

“Where are you going?”

“I thought I’d get a head start on fixing your blackmail problem. Don’t worry, I’m not going to the papers.”

“What are you planning?”

“I plan to fight fire with fire.”

James shrugs out of His Lordship’s hold and strides to the library where his pen and paper are kept. It’s time to write a letter to the greatest gossip James knows - his mother. She’ll have something he can use against this John Paul McQueen, something to force him to give up his evidence and his vendetta. Maybe, with the threat gone, he can focus on helping Harry get out from under his family’s thumb.

The library is quite terrifying in the dark, until James flicks the newly installed switch on the wall and the lightbulbs slowly start to glow and alleviate the gloom. Such an incredible invention!

He can’t help but look at the west wing. Where just a few hours ago he was so engrossed in innocent conversation with Harry that he had forgotten everything but the other man. They had barely scratched the surface of the things they could talk about. Not just their likes and dislikes and their favourite memories. But their opinions. Oh, the debates he could have with Harry. On women’s right to vote, on the war that even children know is inevitably on the horizon. James would never tire of simply talking to Harry. And if he could be with him for real, then he would be the happiest man on Earth.

But first, he has to fix one teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy problem. James pens a rather long letter, longer than he expected, to his mother. It begins with simple pleasantries and apologies for not visiting as he had promised; he’s been busy and they both know that were something serious to have happened he would be there as fast as humanly possible. Then he reveals his true purpose in writing. True to his promise to Lord Tony, he refrains from mentioning any details, simply that he has come across the McQueens and it would be advantageous if he had something up his sleeve. He concludes with well wishes for the family and asks for details of their lives. He does miss his siblings - even Nathan, though he does irritate occasionally.

As he neatly seals the envelope, the door to the library opens behind him. He turns abruptly, but stops the sharp words on his tongue at the sight of one of the housemaids. Unfortunately he doesn’t know her name, having only seen her briefly around the house when he wakes obscenely early. She looks rather plain in her black dress and hair tied away from her face with a white hat. But she is pretty, he supposes, in an objective way.

She curtsies, “I’m so sorry to intrude, sir. But I need to apologise, sir.”

James’ brow creases. “Whatever for? I don’t think you’ve over offended me.”

“It’s more of a collective thing. All us servants downstairs.” She fidgets nervously, hands twisting in front of her. “We wanna apologise for not reminding you about the west wing. We didn’t mean to get you or Lord Harry in trouble, we swear it. Even Darren feels guilty, but his loyalty’s to Lord Tony and he was conflicted. He’s so sorry. We all are.”

“No, no. None of this is your fault. I broke the rules. It wasn’t your job to remind me. And you can tell - Darren, was it? - that I understand. I would have done the same, he owes me no loyalty.”

“Still. You’re too kind, sir. But…” she hesitates, “Harry? Is he gonna be okay? Only, my brother - Dodger, well, Mark, one of the footmen - he said it was bad during dinner. He said that the young Lord was worse than ever. And there was shouting, me and Lisa heard it even from the hall. Please, sir, is he okay?” The maid pleads earnestly.

James sighs. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I think it might be best if you and the other servants do whatever you can to help. But don’t get yourselves in trouble, I know Harry wouldn’t want that.”

A small, sad smile appears on her face, almost wistful. “Yeah, I know. He’s a right sweet one, Harry. Lots of us downstairs grew up here - our families have worked for the Hutchinson’s for generations - and he used to play with us as if we were equals. Getting his fine clothes all muddy to play chase and Bulldog. His Lordship would go ballistic, but Her Ladyship would just laugh.” Her tone darkens. “He’s changed the last few years, Harry. Life hasn’t been kind.”

She’s quiet. For a moment, James wonders whether she will leave now, or if she has more to say. When the silence lasts, he asks, “What do you know about John Paul McQueen? What happened between him and Harry?”

“Oh.” She comes closer, no longer standing at the door. “Well, it was five years ago, or there about, and Lord McQueen was courting, I guess, Lord Hay when something happened to break the engagement. It involved Harry, that’s all I know. Pretty soon after that Harry was engaged to Lord Hay, and they were married in the summer, halfway through the season. I’m sorry. I don’t know much. My uncle, the butler, he kept a lot of out of the upstairs business. He and Mrs Loveday, the housekeeper, might know more if you need to ask them.”

“Thank you…”

“Oh, it’s Liberty.”

“Thank you, Liberty. It’s clear you care about Harry, and I’m sure he appreciates that.”

“You’re very sweet, sir. Is there anything I can do for you?” A happy smile is in place and it’s contagious. James finds himself grinning back at her, despite the situation. James decides he likes this Liberty girl.

“Actually, yes. I have a letter that I need to be posted rather urgently. If you could ensure that this gets to the post as soon as possible, I would be eternally grateful.” James flashes her a charming smile that makes her blush prettily. He hand over the envelope and she curtsies again.

“Sir, you know this is my job. You don’t have to owe me.”

“Yes, but I’m not your boss. I mean it. If you, or any of the other servants, ever need anything, I will do my best to help you.”

“You are an angel, sir. Thank you, and have a good night.”

“You, too, Liberty.” Says James as she departs, his letter in hand. He isn’t worried about her reading it. His instinct tells him to trust her. And her being fond of Harry is an added bonus.

James spends a moment longer in the chilling silence of the library, opening the doors to the west wing. The window seat belonging to Harry looked wrong without him there, without even a blanket or a cushion to suggest he was ever there. The servants did an impressive job erasing all traces of the two of them from the room. No books left out. The box of apology liquorice is gone. James isn’t sure if Loveday took it for Harry, or if it was thrown away as part of Harry’s punishment. he hopes for the latter.

Suddenly, James loathes the room. He slams the doors and leaves the library as fast as he can. Distancing himself from the source of his pain seems like the best course of action right now.

But, as he crosses the grand foyer to head up to bed, his plan fails. The memories come flooding back, as if they never left, not even for a second. Every word, every look, every touch. Each flutter of his stomach, every beat his heart skipped, every catching breath. And they torture him as he watches the husband force kiss after kiss on Harry.

The love of James’ life is pushed up against the wall, his arms hanging limply by his sides, not responding. Ste, on the other hand, presses the length of his body against Harry, hands roaming as they please. It doesn’t seem to bother him that the man he is kissing doesn’t want it.

It’s an obscene display. It turns James’ stomach.

He takes the first step towards them, slowly gaining speed and strength. He wants to tear Ste away from Harry, throw him bodily to the floor. Rip into him and break every bone in his body. Feeling the rush of Ste’s blood over his hands and watching the life drain from his eyes would be the greatest pleasure.

Then Harry’s eyes open. Alerted by his presence, he locks on to James immediately. There’s a warning there, a message. A shake of his head without shaking his head. Harry tells James ‘no, don’t do it’. James stops in his tracks, eyes pained and jaw clenched. Through Harry’s eyes are conveyed his true feelings. A desire to be with James, a deep, sorrowful longing.

It’s the toughest decision of his life, stepping away from where Ste is molesting his husband and heading up to his bedroom. He would make things a million times worse were he, a lowly scholar, to attack a Lord, who is, legally, within his right to what he wants in his marriage. The repercussions on him would be dire. Not to mention, what Ste or Tony could do to Harry.

This place is fucked up. How did a simple research trip turn into this? Getting into an affair with a married Lord, working for a man he despises, and feeling more trapped and weak than he has in his entire life, these were not part of his plan. He only hopes things won’t get worse for Harry tonight, and that his mother hurries up with her reply.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally find out what happened with John Paul (really not nice, if you like him then you will not like this), and some more plot and Jarry fluff (and angsty/hurt/comfort conversations) x
> 
> If there are any mistake for errors, please let me know so I can hopefully fix them. Thanks xxx

James doesn’t see Harry for a few days after the incident, which definitely doesn’t fill him with hope. Knowing their luck, Harry could be comatose in bed, or injured too badly to move. Or, a voice that sounds suspiciously like that of his father suggests, Harry could have realised that James is a terrible excuse for a human being and would prefer the abusive rapist over him.

But, of course, that is an unreasonable thing to think. Even if Harry didn’t want to be with James, he most certainly wouldn’t want to remain with his current husband. That doesn’t stop his intestines from attempting form an impossible to undo knot around his stomach. Knowing, even a little bit, what Harry is going through.

The library is a barren place without Harry’s light. Lord Tony had not so politely reminded him that Harry would no longer be relaxing in the west wing, and that he would be impossible to find elsewhere in the house having over exerted himself at the dinner and now being on bed rest; now, James’ work can continue uninterrupted.

Except, that is the problem. The research is going swimmingly. Too swimmingly, in fact. The notes, comparisons and translations that he needed to complete are close to being finished. Soon, after another once over at the university’s library, he might be ready to start drafting. Without Harry’s enlightening conversation, James plods through his work with neither enthusiasm nor reluctance. He just keeps going on. And soon, he will have no excuse to stay in the house, once he has fixed the McQueen problem.

And don’t get him started on the McQueen situation. His mother is taking forever to reply, if it has even reached her by now. He knows she can be a little harebrained and ditzy at times but he was sure that she would shove everything to the side to help her first born son, and he has no doubt that her reply will be long winded and exhaustive. Hopefully, the wait will be worth it.

Neither Lord Tony nor the rest of the family have been accommodating. They will tell him no more about what happened five years ago. Simply, they have left him with a sparse description of a seemingly sexual relationship between Harry and this John Paul person - which James does not believe happened one bit. Apart form the letters that may be fabricated, there is not one iota of evidence. The maid, Liberty, was sweet, but she knew very little. It seems James will have to ask someone else and make them talk. It is Harry’s reputation on the line, most of all, and James will not see it besmirched.

That is how James ends up sneaking into the servants’ stairwell and following the sweet housemaid, Liberty, down the stairs.

“What are you doing, sir? I don’t think His Lordship will like this very much. Guests aren’t meant to be here.”

“Well, frankly, Liberty, I don’t much care. I need to speak with the butler and the housekeeper. It’s about Harry, so it’s very important. Do you think you can take me to them?”

Liberty flounders our a moment, likely debating the pros and cons. Upon deciding that it would be better to help him, she nods and efficiently leads him down to the servants hall and ushers him into a small sitting room.

“This is Mrs Loveday’s office. I’ll try and find her and my uncle - I mean, Mr S’Avage - and leave you to it.”

Not a minute later, Mrs Loveday, a sharp and pinched but maternal looking lady, the butler and another woman, who looks like she would beat James to within an inch of his life with a rolling pin if he offended her, all enter the room.

“Thank you, Liberty.’ James smiles at the departing maid, before turning to the senior members of staff. “Thank you for letting me see you. I know you are all very busy, but this shouldn’t take a moment.”

Mrs Loveday , who very closely resembles her son, gestures for them all to sit. “Not at all. You’re a guest. What can we do to help?”

“Well…” James eyes them all. They seem nice people, competent but kind. From Liberty’s words and his own instinct, he guesses they are fond of Harry. “It’s about Harry. As you might know, I’m helping His Lordship out with a delicate matter. It involves Harry and another gentleman, from before he was married. A John Paul McQueen. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened? I know that servants, out of everyone in noble house, often know the most. You hear everything. Of course, I would never ask you to betray your master’s loyalty, but I assure you that this is in their best interest.”

“Oh, stuff their loyalty.” The cook, James presumes that is her, scoffs. “If this helps little Harry, then I’m all in.” She turns to her companions. “Someone needs to know what happened, the truth. Those bone-headed men won’t listen to what we have to say, but this man will.”

“Very well,” says the butler, S’Avage, adjusting the glasses on his nose. “But none of this is used for any other purpose than the one you say, understood?”

“Perfectly, Mr S’Avage, thank you.”

The housekeeper starts, “Well, firstly, you should know that Harry never wrote any letters. My son, Zack, is his valet, was a close friend and servant even before that, and he swears that Harry has never written a word to this Baron McQueen. In fact, he swears that they never spoke more than a handful of times.”

“So the letters McQueen claims to have are fakes, then?”

“Most definitely. If you could obtain them, you can compare the handwriting and it would be proven. Plus, he wouldn’t have Harry’s seal - his mother bought it for him and it’s completely unique.” She asserts.

“Alright. That’s one question answered.” James sighs, relaxing his posture to lean forward. Oh, if his mother saw him now, slouched in front of servants, she would throw a fit. The butler might, too. James can see him watching him curiously. “Let’s start from the beginning. How did Harry and McQueen become acquainted? Why was he visiting?”

The butler replies. “The baron was courting Lord Hay at the time. They met in London, got on well, and an engagement was due. Lord Ste has always been a close friend of the family, practically raised by His Lordship after the Hay’s decline. The money he’s put into rebuilding the Hay estate and protecting the fortune would shock anyone. Any way, it was common knowledge that a wedding would soon be planned - Mrs Barnes, here, even had the menu written out - until, suddenly, it wasn’t. Lord Ste broke it off, then there was the incident in the library, and the baron was never seen again. We had all nearly forgotten about him until Nancy overheard about the letters.”

“What incident in the library?”

“According to Zack,” Mrs Loveday says, “McQueen thought Harry had something to do with the break up and wanted to taunt the family - taint it, most likely. He went to Harry in the library and attempted to make a move on him. He was stopped by His Lordship, but clearly it’s enough to put doubts in everyone’s minds. Harry had no idea what had happened with the engagement, and he was completely outmatched by McQueen - the man has almost ten years on him.”

“And after that?”

“Like Mr S’Avage said, we never saw any McQueen again. But the next summer, Harry and Ste were married, which was quite a shock to everyone. No one suspected there was anything between them.”

“We actually don’t know all that much. Zack would know more, but he might not tell all. His loyalty to Harry is unshakeable - and rightly so.” Says Mrs Barnes indignantly. “You’d best stop this scandal before it becomes one, Mr Maxwell-Brown, or there’ll be hell to pay.” She may not have moved an inch in her seat, but James immediately believes the cook will follow through on her threat. He thinks he sees the glint of a carving knife in the pocket of her apron.

“I will do my best. Thank you.”

James stands, and they all take the hint. But at least he knows more than he did before. But it’s still not enough. He can’t go into a confrontation with McQueen without knowing every facet of his relationship with this family. And it’s frustrating having to wait for his mother to respond. If only he could talk to Harry about it all - since it directly involves him.

But, since Fate seems to have it out for him, as he sees neither hide nor hair of Harry or Zack. Not at breakfast, lunch or dinner, not in the library and not down in the servants’ hall. No matter where James looks, the two men are not to be found. He asks Liberty and some of the other servants he seems to have miraculously befriended, but they evade his questions and refuse to give simple answers.

Which leaves James to speed through the rest of his thesis and mull over his new information. James finds it rather odd that Lord Ste would abandon such a meaningful relationship for a whirlwind one with his foster father’s son. It also seems like Harry is a victim in this - of a potential assault, and of his family’s mistrust. James can’t understand why they would assume Harry to be so… loose, provocative, reckless. To write such letters, and want to kiss or sleep with McQueen - who he thought was engaged. None of that fits with the young man James has grown to know and love.

James resigns himself to only knowing half of the truth when Loveday - Zack - finds him in the library aimlessly attempting to extend his research.

“Mr Maxwell-Brown? Sir?”

“Loveday. What is it?”

The valet shuffles his feet. And that is when James notices just how exhausted and drawn out the young man looks. Not only are his clothes wrinkled and not up to S’Avage’s standard, but he has dark circles and it looks like he hasn’t smiled in days. The light in his eyes is dim and tired. He sways on his feet, as if he could fall asleep any second.

James gently manoeuvres the man to a seat and crouches in front of him. “Zack? Are you alright?”

To James’ surprise, Zack scoffs. “Me? Oh I’m practically perfect… compared to Harry.” Suddenly, Zack looks up and grabs James by the lapels. “You have to come see him. Please. I’m begging you. You might be the only person who can help him. Please.”

James nods dumbly, and, in a sudden burst of energy, Zack takes him by the hand and drags him through the manor. So fast and wildly does Zack run, that James fears his shoulder may dislocate. Oddly, the scholar thinks, he isn’t being led to one of the more private family rooms - like Harry’s bedroom. Not that he would expect to be led there - that would be most improper, not that he would actually put up much fuss. Instead, Zack takes him to the back of the house, on the ground floor, a place James has yet to explore.

James’ eyes widen. They have come to a stop in front of an ornate, burnished door, embellished with flowers and vines and little birds. But not just any old plants and animals. They’re exotic; James has never seen depictions like this. It’s at such odds with the oak panelling beside it, that James can’t look away. If the door is this magnificent, he can only guess at the splendours of the inside.

Zack hesitates momentarily, before twisting the door handle, which is shaped like the beak of a flamingo - a bird James has only read about - and steps inside.

James’ whole face goes slack. His eyes threaten to pop out of his head; his jaw is agape; his breath leaves him in one long sigh. He could never have imagined this room belonging to the rets of the house. Looking around, he can’t picture Lord Tony strolling through its depths; he can’t even imagine him commissioning this build.

For, behind the magically beautiful door, is the most incredible solarium in the world. All glass walls and ceiling, supported by the same polished bronze as the door in elegant spirals, adorned with tiny bronze bugs and beetles and spiders. Row upon row of planters overflowing with exotic plants in the strangest shapes and colours. Blue lilies, orange roses, towering ferns and cat’s tails. Bushes of herbs and spices, and even a few vegetables. Stationed intermittently through the room are bronze statuettes of elephants, giraffes, flamingoes, parrots, monkeys, butterflies. It is a tropical zoo in a glass room.

And, in the middle of the room, partially obscured by the leaves of a palm tree, reclines the most beautiful creature in the world. Harry. On a chaise longue, soaking in the winter sun that streams through the glass roof, with his customary blankets, is his love. All the fears and doubts that had burrowed into James’ mind in the other man’s absence, have all faded. Now that he can see he is alive. Whether he is healthy, is another matter.

Zack scurries forward to kneel beside the chair. Rearranging blankets and speaking in soothing tones to make up for his absence. Though James can’t see Harry’s face from where he is, he can clearly see the anxiety and absolute care in the valet’s expression. He wonders what he will see when he steps closer.

“I’m alright, Zack. Thank you for bringing him.” Harry sounds tired. His hand is pale and shaking as he reaches out to take Zack’s hand. Zack gives a stiff smile and stands.

Turning to James, he straightens and stares at him fiercely. “I’m sorry for what I said to you that night - when I blamed you. It’s not entirely your fault, Harry kept the secret very well. You’re an alright man, Maxwell-Brown.” He pauses. “I know he asked you here, and I know you have a lot to talk about, but, please… Don’t wear him out. He’s not strong enough for that.”

James can’t bring himself to speak. He nods. Zack leaves with his lips clenched together; he pushes down the desire to rush back and baby Harry some more. The door closes behind him softly.

It is serene in the solarium. A slight breeze rustles the plants, and they sway hypnotically to and fro. The statues appear to be alive, surrounded by the plants, but they make no noise. James understand why this would be where Harry would go when the library is out of bounds. One could spend an eternity in here and not notice the time passing.

Harry attempts to sit up, to better see James from where he is still standing stationary. But it’s a struggle. James rushes to his side and gently urges him to lay back down.

“Don’t. You heard what Zack said, you can’t exert yourself. He’d flay me alive if he found out.” Though there is a very comfortable looking armchair set opposite Harry, James opts to sit by Harry’s legs on the chaise.

“I’m not a complete invalid, James.” But the look on both of their faces suggests the opposite. And they both know why. With tears in his eyes, Harry takes James’ hand and kisses his knuckles. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He chokes out. “I didn’t—”

“Stop.” Harry’s grip tightens on his hand, but weakens soon after. “It’s better if we wait. Had you done something then, you would have been thrown out and everything would be worse. Now? Now we can plan… If that’s what you want, of course.”

The blinding grin on James’ face and the love that fills this eyes told Harry all that he needed. “Of course I want that. Even before I knew what was really happening I wanted you all to myself. You are incredible, Harry. Truly. So smart and funny and down-right charming, not to mention handsome. I would love to make you mine.”

Hesitantly, Harry reaches up to caress James’ cheek. His hands are cold against James’ flushed skin. Harry pulls James closer, close enough that their lips are a hair’s breadth away. Their breath mingles, and James breathes in raggedly. With a surge of courage, Harry kisses James, pulling his body closer on the chaise.

By the time they pull away to breathe, James’ body hovers over Harry’s, their legs tangled together with the blankets between them. James leaves Harry’s lips to trail light kisses down his neck to the collar of his dressing gown. Covering every inch of skin tainted by the husband with his own love. If he could erase even one memory then he will be happy. Through the blankets and his own strained trousers, James can feel Harry’s own pleasure and excitement. The younger man pants and gasps, a blissful smile pulling at his lips.

With great reluctance, James sits up, but takes Harry’s hand in his. God forbid, he break contact. He’s not ready to let go of his lover just yet. Harry whines, but entwines their fingers nonetheless.

“There’ll be more of that once we have a plan.” James reassures Harry. “My work here in the library is practically finished, your father is only allowing me to stay because of this McQueen business,” Harry tenses and makes a quiet squeak of alarm. The McQueen affair is not Harry’s favourite topic. “I want to help, I need to. Because once your father is in my debt, once I have something to use against him, we can force him and your husband to release you. But I don’t know enough about what happened. They are not being very forthcoming. I hate to ask this of you, Harry, but I need to know what happened exactly. Please, Harry.”

Harry says nothing for a while. His expression is pained and he plays mutely with James’ fingers and the cuff of his sleeve. Deep in thought, James waits.

“I guess you do need to know. One way or another.”

“Harry. Look at me. Nothing you could tell me would push me away, or make me love you any less.” James’ brow furrows at the bright smile on Harry’s face. “What?”

“You love me?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

Harry kisses James again, sweet and chaste.

“I’ll tell you. But promise not to do or say anything until I finish?” James nods. “Okay.

“I haven’t been happy in a long time. It’s only now, with you, that I think I can be happy again. Losing my mother, and then suddenly gaining a step-mother - it felt like my father was replacing her. I had a few friends in noble circles, but I rarely saw them, and it was only mother who encouraged making friends with servants. My father did everything he could to make me stay away from Zack, Lisa, Sonia and Liberty. I was quite alone. I kept to myself, studying mostly. I liked being in the library… close to my mother.

“Back then Ste was more like my father’s ward, a son in all but name, and he was engaged to John Paul McQueen. I thought they were happy; the wedding was being planned and I even think a date was set. Everything was perfect between them. Until it just… wasn’t.

“That day, it was raining. Heavily raining, like the sky was crying and just couldn’t stop. Like that bit out of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland when she just can’t stop crying. The suits were being delivered that day, and the flowers. I remember because it’s all Ste and John Paul could talk about over breakfast. My father was quiet; he’d had a meeting with his lawyer in London the day before and he’d been in a foul mood ever since. I went on as normal, working in the library.

“Whatever happened outside that library I didn’t know about until the day after.

“It was four o’clock. No one had called me for lunch, so I had just kept on reading. Until there was a knock on the door. I thought it was Zack - he usually came and joined me when he had time, but he hadn’t that day. I assumed he was late. But it wasn’t him. It was John Paul. There was something… off… about him. So when he asked if he could join me. I said yes. I felt sorry for him, he looked like he’d been through the wringer. Red cheeked and shaking. I didn’t know if he was sad or angry.

“For a while he just sat next to me in silence while I read. Then… he asked if I would read aloud to him. It seemed harmless, so I said yes. I had just started when he told me to stop. ‘Not that book,’ he said. I was confused. Until he took a book from his pocket and handed it to me. It was poetry. I read a verse before I realised it wasn’t— polite poetry. I stopped and he— he laughed. I asked him what he found so funny, and he said my innocence amused him.”

James reaches up to wipe at the tear sliding down Harry’s face. He thought he had been prepared for what happened - he knew McQueen made advances at Harry - but this is infinitely worse. His fists burn with the desire to brutally beat the baron to a pulp, and Harry hasn’t finished his tale yet. James never thought he would resort to violence like his father, or even think of it so easily. But this would be worth it, he thinks.

“He didn’t say anything after that and I went back to my own reading. I wanted to take law at university, if I could go, so I was trying to prove that I could do it. It was an account of a court case, but some of the terminology was confusing, even the dictionary definitions were vague and I was getting frustrated. John Paul could see that, I heard his laugh before he offered to help explain it to me. I didn’t suspect anything. I said yes.

“He got out of his seat and leant over the back of my chair. I could feel his eyes on me, and his fingers brushed my back. It made my hair stand on end. But he wasn’t doing anything and seemed stupid to tell him to stop doing nothing. I was being silly. He explained it, I think, but I couldn’t focus. His hand was on my shoulder and he was whispering in my ear and I just wanted to get away.

“But when I tried, he got in my way. He backed me against the table. I could feel it digging into the small of my back. He leaned over me and I was scared. I would never have pushed him under normal circumstances but I wanted him to get away but he just wouldn’t. Zack says I was right to, but… others, say I just made him angry, made things worse. I pushed him, and he grabbed me and he kissed me.

“It was my first kiss. I already suspected where my desires would lead me, and I knew that I would end up marrying a man, that my first kiss would be with a man. But I didn’t want it to be then. Not with him. And not by force. His hands were on me too, and I don’t like to think about how far he would’ve taken it if Zack hadn’t walked in.”

James breathes a small sigh of relief. That though it was a stolen kiss, one not wanted, it didn’t go any further. That McQueen hadn’t raped him, not like his current husband. He still feels the fires of vengeance calling to him, but they don’t burn any brighter. He strokes soothing patterns on the back of Harry’s hands.

“Zack never had to knock when he was visiting me in the library. So he didn’t that day. He saw everything, and he pulled John Paul away and stayed with me as he was thrown out of the house. We never saw McQueen again, not even at formal engagements. He kept away, and rightly so. My father gave me a few days to… recover… before telling me what had occurred while I was in the library.

“The meeting with the lawyer had made my father aware of certain limitations to his support of Ste. He could give financial support and help to rebuild the Hay family estate and name, but he couldn’t properly include him in his will as an heir, as he wanted to do. The easiest way to achieve that was to have Ste marry into the family. My marriage to Ste was arranged by him and my father, and that day, Ste broke off his engagement to John Paul, who, having realised the true reason why, had assaulted me to get back at them. What he’s doing now, claiming my virtue was not intact when I married through letters and so called evidence, is just what he planned before. He planned to take it far enough to completely ruin me, and subsequently my family. It was a petty act of revenge.

“On the day that Ste and John Paul were to be wed, I married him instead, in the suits that had been delivered that day, with the same flowers and menu and guests. Everything had been a farce, everything was planned for my wedding. It seems the plan had been in the works for a while before John Paul left.”

James gently places a kiss on Harry’s forehead, then rests his own against it. So Harry’s marriage had been arranged by his father. Lord Hutchinson willingly gave his son away in holy matrimony to an abuser. Why does he not put an end to it? Does he not feel responsible?

“And… after your wedding day?” James hesitantly asks.

“After… I was happy for a while. While I had never seen Ste as a possibility, I was happy because at least he wasn’t like John Paul.” Harry scoffs, his mouth twisting bitterly. “I was content. I had no expectations for marriage, it wasn’t on my mind, so everything seemed normal. Until I caught Ste kissing his valet, Brady, and I called him out on it. He was angry, raving about how he is within his right to have an affair when his husband is disappointing. He made me forget about it, leave it be. From then on, my marriage dissolved into what you saw the other night. He parades his affair right in my face, he takes what he wants, and my life is nothing more than my marriage.

“When my friends attended their first season in London and were officially presented, I had been married for six months and I hadn’t seen them in almost as long. Any dream I had of attending university went down the drain. I lost interest in so many things that once delighted me, I was tired all the time and I just felt so… hopeless.

“Until you.” Harry brightens up a fraction. “You pulled me out of a stupor. You’ve given me a reason to fight, to get out of bed and enjoy life. Even if… even if this doesn’t work, and somewhere down the line we part ways, you’ve still shown me a way out of the darkness. I can’t thank you enough for that, and I love you so much for it.”

Harry leans in for a sweet kiss that James deepens. They moan and reach for each other. James is sure to keep his hands appropriate, not knowing how Harry will react after baring his emotions and talking himself raw and vulnerable, but Harry has no such qualms. He sneaks a hand under James’ shirt to feel the chest underneath and to pull him ever closer.

Breathless, James pulls away. “I love you, too, Harry. I want to give you the world. But I will start with freedom. Now that I know everything, I will make sure McQueen never bothers you again. He will regret what he did. This I swear.”

“I believe you.”

A knock on the door heralds Zack’s return, though he seems partly embarrassed to have interrupted them and partly overflowing with anticipation. James’ eyes are drawn to the square of paper in his hands. A letter.

“A letter. For you, Mr Maxwell-Brown.” Zack eagerly hands it over then steps back into shadows.

Harry leans over James’ shoulder to peer at the envelope. Something is furiously scribbled over, but James is glad that no letters can be seen underneath. While he appreciates honesty in a relationship, now is not the time to unearth that particular secret.

“What is it? Who is it from?”

James rips it open and does a quick scan, a grin spreading across his face until he looks half mad. “From my mother. And this has everything I need to take McQueen down. It won’t be long now, my love, until he is out of your life and we are far away from here.”

“What do you need to do now?”

James thinks for a moment. There’s no need to go into this rashly. If he wants this to go perfectly, then he has to think logically. “I need to set up a meeting with McQueen, to lay down terms. When I’m through with him, he’ll be shaking in his shoes. I just need to write another letter.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning is, as every morning for the past five years of Harry’s life, a test in endurance. If he can withstand his husband’s morning routine, then he is free to spend the rest of the day as he pleases. That used to entail a few more hours languishing in bed feeling sorry for himself, then a light breakfast - though more like lunch given the time - and maybe a walk or an afternoon spent in the quiet confines of the library or the solarium, then an early night. And somehow, his lazy days had exhausted him to the point of near collapse.

But now, as Ste and Brady greet each other with amorous kisses and embraces right in front of his eyes, Harry is buzzing with energy. Nothing much has changed in his life; he is still married, trapped and abused; except the presence of one rather handsome scholar who makes his heart pound. James has given him hope, hope of a way out of this torture.

When the two lovers finally depart for more explicit things, Harry leaps out of bed and yanks on the bell beside the bed, calling for Zack. While waiting for his undoubtedly surprised valet, Harry warms himself by the morning fire and formulates his plan for the day.

A knock and Zack enters. “Harry? You’re up rather early.” He has a breakfast tray, which Harry digs into with gusto so unlike him. For others, it would still be a rather sedate pace, but for Harry he might as well be shoving into his mouth. “And with energy…?” Zack adds, confused. “What’s going on?”

Harry puts down his piece of toast, and grins up at his servant, who, as if it were contagious, starts to smile a little, too. “I’m just excited. Things are looking up.”

It had been a few weeks since James had received word from his mother, and since then he has been exchanging letters with John Paul. Cordial and polite letters as James was pretending to require use of their family records and library for a thesis on noble family history. It wasn’t much to pretend, James has quite a surprising knowledge of noble families already, and apparently John Paul is convinced. Soon, James will start on phase two of their plan. Well, more like his plan. Harry isn’t quite sure what he brings to it.

And he wasn’t keen on James writing to John Paul, either. While he knows James hates the thought of Harry being in contact with the man, Harry himself loathes the idea of the reverse. Knowing that the man who… assaulted him was trading private words with the man he loves, and that, inevitably, they might meet, makes his stomach twist. But, he concedes, dealing with John Paul is a necessary step on the way to eloping.

“Ah, yes.” Zack cries, taking a seat opposite Harry. “Your plan to run away with the handsome scholar.”

“I do hope you don’t feel like I’m abandoning you. We haven’t talked about what happens to you if I leave. There isn’t much use for a valet in the life we’re going to have. James lives modestly, he doesn’t have a manor with servants like this.”

“When you leave. I won’t have you doubting it now.” Zack reprimands. He steals a slice of toast, and Harry lets him. “And don’t worry about me. There’s always other houses.”

“But you won’t miss it? Your whole family are here, in this village, working at the house.”

“True. But most men my age have already left home to start the rest of their lives. Maybe I can convince Sonia to come with me - I have savings, and I know more than just how to serve dinner to some fancy family. Maybe I’ll become a blacksmith like my dad, apprentice somewhere. Don’t worry about me, worry about yourself.”

Tears well in Harry’s eyes. Over the small table, he pulls Zack into a fierce hug, one that the valet reciprocates. “You really are the best friend I could ever have asked for.”

“So, what are the plans for today?” Asks Zack as they pull apart. “Another romantic rendezvous in the solarium? More secret love letters posted under doors? A picnic?”

“Actually, yes. A picnic. And riding.”

“Riding? You haven’t been riding in years.”

“I know, and I might regret it tomorrow, but James and I both enjoy it and a nice quiet picnic away from everyone else in this house might be nice.”

“Shall I pass on the message and ask Mrs Barnes to pack a basket for you?”

“Thank you, Zack. And if you could ask her to keep it a secret. We don’t want my father or Ste finding out.”

Zack scoffs. “Please, Harry, Mrs Barnes would kill someone for you - sees you like her son, and you know how protective she is of her children. Everything will be hush hush.”

Harry finishes off his breakfast and dresses in record time. Zack hurries off to make the arrangements for the picnic, and Harry takes his time walking to the solarium. Despite nervous excitement bubbling away inside and the urge he feels to skip down the corridors, or maybe even jump for joy, he tries to act the way he has for the past five years. He doesn’t want to give even the smallest hint about his new relationship to anyone. He can’t have this taken away from him.

He waits in the solarium, doing nothing but admiring the views. The vibrant plants and the statues that seem alive finally fit with his mood. He can’t sit still or concentrate enough to do anything but watch and wait. Though he is in a room with glass walls, technically open to onlookers, he doesn’t fear being seen. In this room, knowing that James will arrive soon, he has no fears.

Harry greets James with an enthusiastic kiss when he arrives a while later. They lose themselves in the embrace and the feel of each other’s bodies against their own. Dressed suitably for riding, Harry confidently takes full advantage of the way the breeches hug James’ thighs, and toned stomach and everything in between.

Breathless, Harry withdraws slowly. “We have a long ride ahead of us. We can continue this at our picnic.”

“Very well. But we could easily have our picnic right here. Right now.”

“I promised you a ride, didn’t I?” Harry bites his lip suggestively and kisses James on the cheek. “Come on.” He contains a gleeful giggle at James’ gruff, wanton growl, but he beams brighter than the sun.

The ride is exhilarating. Harry hasn’t been riding in so long, since the early days of his marriage, and he has missed it. Though he never realised just how much until now. The wind in his short hair caressing his face, the steady rocking of the horse between his legs, the race of his heartbeat as it batters at his ribcage. His cheeks ache from all the smiling.

A ride on its own is nice, but with James on a horse beside him it’s even better. They share excited grins, and laughs, and each urge their steed on faster to beat the other to their destination. Harry can’t remember the last time he had such fun.

It isn’t long before their journey across the Hutchinson lands leads them to the perfect place for a picnic. A large open valley of green grass, the ground hardened by frost and suitable for sitting on, and surrounded by thick forest on all sides. There is no way anyone could interrupt them.

And just as well, because James pounces on Harry the moment he slides down from his saddle, and promptly resumes what they started in the solarium. Except this time, there is no need to stop until they are both out of breath and fully sated.

“Let me get the blankets.” James offers, standing to retrieve the packs from the horses and return to Harry side. From where he lays on the ground, recovering his strength, Harry enjoys the view of his lover. It’s a shame they will have to get dressed again soon; it’s too cold to be semi-naked while outdoors.

Gazing at James’ body, it occurs to him to ask about the scars. They are everywhere, he has found, and make quite the irregular pattern. Zack mentioned it when the scholar had first arrived, but Harry had never brought it up in their many conversations. At least now, he doesn’t have to admit to listening to his valet’s gossip.

“James?” The other man hums. “Your scars, where did they come from?”

James freezes, but Harry doesn’t fear a reprimand or scathing dismissal. Patiently, he waits until James is ready to talk.

“I’ve mentioned my father to you, haven’t I?”

“Only briefly, and never nicely. Did he do that to you?”

James won’t turn around, and Harry aches to wrap his arms around the older man. But he knows that might not be welcomed at the moment.

“My father’s loathed me since the day I was born and he has never made his feelings a secret. It was only when my siblings found out that it finally ended.”

“Is he dead?” If he’s not dead, Harry would very much like to choke the life out of the man with his bare hands.

“As good as. He can’t hurt me. Not anymore.”

Harry gets to his feet and slowly stands in front of James, hesitantly taking his hand. He offers no meaningless platitudes, just a smile. He guesses it was appreciated, if the fiery kiss he receives is anything to go by.

They resume their picnic and tuck in to the delicious treats whipped up by Mrs Barnes. For a while they eat in silence, simply sharing glances and smiles they can’t contain. James reaches over to take Harry’s hand, and though it is hard to eat with one hand, he refuses to let go. This is one of the best moments of his life.

But their peaceful, intimate moment doesn’t last forever. Something serious has crossed James’ face, something they need to talk about. James is holding it back, he knows. But at least he also knows that James isn’t about to ditch him, not now, not after doing so much for him.

“What is it? What’s troubling you? I’m sorry I brought up the scars and your father. I won’t do it again.”

“No, Harry, it’s not that. It’s that…things have been finalised. Your father has agreed that I’ll go to the McQueen estate tomorrow, stay as long as I must, and sort everything out. This is it. Hopefully soon, this scandal will be gone.”

“You go tomorrow?”

Harry doesn’t know why it comes as a surprise to him. He knew that James would most likely need to visit John Paul and the other McQueens, that this couldn’t just be sorted via a few letters. But he hadn’t expected it to be so soon, or that he’d get so little warning. He had been counting on having some warning to mentally prepare. His lover was going to be meeting the man who assaulted him and he wasn’t ready for that.

“Breathe, Harry, breathe. It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay. I promise. And when have I ever broken a promise to you?”

“Y-you haven’t.” Harry stutters out, leaning into James’ warm embrace.

“I’m sorry to drop it on you, but if it’s tomorrow, you have less time to worry and fret. I never want you to have to stress about anything.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go. But I must. Once this is done, once you’re father is no longer being blackmailed—”

“You can blackmail him? James, I know the plan. And I promise you, I am alright with it. You can blackmail my father and my husband with whatever you know in order to free me and then we can ride off into the sunset together.”

“That sounds just like a fairytale.”

James cups Harry’s face and kisses him deeply, breathing in everything that is Harry. Like he can’t get enough. “We should head back. I can tell you’re tired, already.”

Harry sighs in annoyance. He was incredibly energetic this morning, and yet now he feels too exhausted to even stand, let alone ride back. It seems lethargy can’t be fixed over night.

“Plus, my journey is long tomorrow, and I need my rest. Come along, my love.”

The older man packs away their things neatly, then helps Harry to his feet and leads him, surprisingly, to James’ own horse. After helping him on, James hops on behind him, arms wrapped securely around Harry’s waist. Taking both sets of reins in hand, he gently walks the horses out of the field and back toward the manor. Harry leans back into James’ body, the feel of his chest against his back and the lull of the horse beneath them relaxing his every muscle. He might just fall asleep on the horse.

“We’ll have to change when we near the house, but…”

“This is nice. Very nice.” Harry mumbles.

Once within sight of the manor, Harry changes steeds, and they head to the stables. They part ways with a kiss and Harry is grateful for the chance for a bath and some more sleep. He only wishes he could steal some more time with James before he leaves the next morning.

“I’ll see you off tomorrow morning.” He promises. “I think I’m allowed, since it partly my fault you have to go.”

“Darling, it’s not your fault. Never your fault. It’s his.”

“I know. But that’s what I’ll tell anyone who sees. It’s called an excuse, James. I’ll see you bright and early then?”

“Of course. Enjoy your rest.”

It is proof of how James wore him out that Harry almost falls asleep in the bath and is out like a light when his head hits his pillow. He sleeps solidly through the night until Zack gently wakes him the next morning with a shake on the shoulder and cup of hot chocolate.

Slipping out from under the covers before his husband has even stirred, Harry forgoes getting dressed, simply donning his slippers and following Zack downstairs. The hot chocolate is much appreciated as the sharp, biting late autumn wind nips at him as he steps outside.

The motor car is ready to go, James’ things all packed up in the back. The man himself stands waiting by the door, conversing lowly with the chauffeur, wrapped up far better than Harry is. Thankfully, the rest of the family had been convinced not to come and see him off, so it was just the two of them, plus the two servants. James turns when he hears the crunch of gravel and he smiles when he sees Harry.

“Oh, Harry. You’ll freeze out here. Zack, would you mind getting him something to keep him warm?”

“I have my hot chocolate, it’ll keep me warm until I return inside. You worry too much.”

“I’m about to leave you alone in this house, of course I’m going to worry.” James tugs Harry closer into his arms.

“I’ve lived here longer than I’ve known you. I can handle a few days.” At that moment, Zack returns with one of Harry’s signature blankets that he wraps around his shoulders. “Thank you, Zack.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go.” James rests his forehead against Harry’s, taking his hands in his own. Harry leans into the embrace. He might not get this for a while, he needs something good to remember. “Last night your husband thanked me for helping and I almost stopped then and there. I hate that in helping you I have to help him.”

“Our interests align, that’s all. Once this is over you can go back to being on opposite sides again. I really can’t thank you enough for doing this for me. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. Hardly long enough to get involved in blackmail and affairs.”

“And yet I know you better than I know my own siblings. It’s not about how long you’ve known someone, but what you know about them. I know you Harry, and you are worth this. You are worth so much more than you are getting.”

James punctuates his words with a sweet kiss between chapped and frozen lips. Harry leans up for more, but the chauffeur calls James’ attention away.

“We’ll have to go soon, if you want to catch the train.”

Harry smiles sadly. “The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back?”

“I’ll be back before you know it, my love. It’s only a few days.”

Harry blushes, and lifts up on his tip toes to press a chaste kiss on James’ cheek. “I’ll be waiting.”

It takes a lot of effort for the two of them to part, neither willing to let go of their hands, nor look away first. It’s only when the chauffeur and Zack remind them of them time and the cold that they finally let go, and Harry watches until the car is lost on the horizon.

“It’ll be okay, Harry. He’ll be back soon.”

“I know.” Harry replies. He knows James will soon be back, a happy grin on his face, and then they can make a plan for getting him out of his marriage and starting their new life. However, there is still a small voice in his head telling him that that was the last time he will see James. That the man is gone, glad to be rid of the clingy little Lord he found in a library. That he’d better get used to being alone in the house, to life without the man who has his heart. “I think I’ll go back to bed now.”

Zack stops Harry as he trudges inside, grabbing onto his arm in a way that is so inappropriate for a servant. But Harry is glad for it; it pulls him out of his head. “Harry, stop that. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re being stupid. James loves you with all of his heart. Even a blind man could see that what you have is true love. Now, let’s go inside and see if we can get some more hot chocolate.”

Zack takes Harry under his wing and guides him downstairs. And it’s not difficult to convince Mrs Barnes to whip up some more hot chocolate for the two of them. They manage to stay out of the way of the other servants as they hurry through the morning rush, that is until Brady shows his face.

Despite Harry’s own affair, he still feels rather sick at the sight of the man his husband has been seeing on the side since the man was hired as valet. Brady and Zack have an uneasy working relationship, Harry knows, and they both seem to agree on a few things. But Harry finds the man distasteful. His gruff, unspeaking demeanour, his moustache and his dark, endless eyes. He’s pretty sure Brady’s a convicted criminal, but he doesn’t know what off.

“What is it, Brady?” Zack asks, standing up though he barely comes up to the other man’s shoulders.

“It’s Ste. He needs to talk with his husband. Immediately.” A frown appears on his face and something troubling crosses his face. “He didn’t seem very pleased.”

Cold dread drops into Harry’s stomach. There’s no way Ste found out about the affair, but Harry fears it nonetheless. His hands tremble, but his legs are steady as he follows Brady upstairs to the bedroom. Brady holds Zack back bodily from following Harry in, and feels like he’s being fed to the lions, like he’s being ganged up on y his husband and his lover. If only James were here he would feel stronger.

The door shuts softly, ominously, behind him. Ste stands, illuminates by the morning sunshine, facing the window. His arms are braced on the windowsill. He’s not even dressed. He must have sent Brady for them as soon as he woke.

“Ste?” Harry says, as quiet as a mouse.

“Who is he to you?”

“Who?”

“Maxwell-Brown. I saw you.”

Wary, Harry rests a hand on the door knob behind him. His breath is shaky and he resists the urge to fall to the floor. “What did you see?”

Ste spins around, his eyes flaming and his mouth set firmly in a scowl. “I saw you saying goodbye to him! You were supposed to stay away from him and he from you! After the fiasco in the library, I thought you knew better than to cavort with him again. I told you not to, and so did your father! You should have listened to us!”

Ste stalks towards him like a raging bull, and Harry knows that he has nothing to lose.

“I didn’t go to meet him,” he blurts out, “I couldn’t sleep so I called for Zack and we went for a walk. He brought me hot chocolate and a blanket and when we came back to the house Maxwell-Brown was just leaving. I said goodbye like a good host, and he was on his way.”

Ste stops his approach but grinds his teeth. Harry fears they may turn to dust. “No. No, it was more than that. I saw how close you were standing!”

Harry swallows. “Were you looking out of the bedroom window? You know how angles and distance and glass can distort images. I swear to you, there was nothing improper in it. I simply thought he deserved some thanks and well-wishes for his journey. He’s helping us.”

Ste sighs. The tension is shoulders falling away. He sags and seems to lose a few inches in height. He turns and begins to pace.

“I know that. And it will serve John Paul right when he gets ruined! But I don’t like the guy. Can you blame me for being suspicious? The advances he’s made against you, and his lack of conversation! We hardly know the guy! I just don’t want this family to be duped again.”

“I know, Ste.” Harry placates his husband in a practiced, soothing tone. He dares not approach, though. “And that’s so admirable of you. You’re such a good man, and a good husband, too. You are twice the man Maxwell-Brown could ever wish to be.” Harry lies through his teeth, his heart racing a mile a minute. “But, please, don’t stress yourself over this. He’s beneath you. Too insignificant to bother over.”

Ste mulls it over. Rage still burning through his veins. “I suppose. But I warn you, Harry. If I feel your loyalties are wavering, there will be no mercy - do you understand?” Harry nods meekly, eyes downcast. Ste storms past, shoving Harry to the side to get to the door, slamming it behind him.

Finally, Harry gives in to the failing strength of his legs. He collapses to the floor and shakes in shock. That was so close. Too close! How he managed to convince Ste to leave it be is a mystery. The threat of his husband’s anger still hangs over his head and he know that this isn’t over but he can try to catch his breath. This is too much for so early in the morning.

“Harry?”

Zack pushes into the room and kneels next to his master. With gentle hands, he gathers him up and leads him over to the bed. Looking Harry in the eye, he emplors him to tell him what happened.

“I could only hear sounds. Was it bad?”

“He saw me sending James off. But only the end. I convinced him that I was just being a good host and wishing him well. Oh, Zack, why did I do that? It’ll just be worse when he find out I was lying!”

“He won’t get a chance to hurt you. Neither I nor James will let that happen. I swear it.”

“Thank you, Zack. You’re a true friend.” Harry pulls Zack into a hug, letting out a final shaky breath as he goes. Tears still fall, but, in the safety of Zack’s arms, he feels the panic subside. Maybe he can do this after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ste and Harry showdown
> 
> ** Fairly graphic domestic violence, so please be careful

Life goes on as normal. Or at least, Harry tries to keep things the same as they were before James Maxwell-Brown ever darkened their door. Ste and his father must be kept in the dark on their plan, at least until James is by his side again. He knows he fails when Zack remarks on his behaviour, one morning as he dresses for a walk into the village.

“I’m glad you’re not letting Maxwell-Brown’s absence set you back to where you started. You’re doing so well.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I expected things to go back to the way they were, but instead… you’re becoming the Harry I grew up with.” Zack blinks away the twinkle of tears in his eyes, and Harry is moved.

Upon reflection, he can see where his act went wrong. He has more energy now to do the things he loves. He goes riding more often, surprising the stablehands with how often he visits, just to feel that weightlessness and freedom again, and to bask in the memories of he and James together in the meadow. His cheeks ache with the smiles and laughter that come more freely. He wakes earlier, goes to bed a little later. He has even picked up a pen for the first time in years to compose a few flowery lines of poetry. He’s rusty, but Zack seems to appreciate it.

“I’ve missed feeling like this. I have the chance to know myself again, my likes and dislikes, my hobbies and habits, my identity outside of any relationships I have. It all feels so new, so alien. I never realised just how much I have changed. I’m a new person now.”

“And we’re all glad for it. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. We’ve missed you, Harry. I’ve missed reading your writing, too.”

“You don’t have to flatter me just because I’m your boss. They’re simple, the metaphors are clunky and the imagery is superficial at best. I’m no poet laureate.”

“Maybe not yet. But you haven’t written in five years - you just need to get into the flow!”

“Whatever you say. Now, hand me my coat and we’ll head into the village. There’s a lot a need to tell my mother about.”

As Harry twists the doorknob, Zack takes his arm and looks deep into his eyes. “Your mother would be so proud of you. I know it.” He lets go of Harry a moment later and clears his throat. “Oh, I’ve got a few errands to run in the village, you wouldn’t mind if I did them while you’re at the church?”

“No, of course not.”

They take their customary route through the woods, and Harry seeks out the sparse wildflowers and weeds that surround the path to form a bouquet for his mother. When they reach the graveyard, they part ways and Harry settles himself down on the frosty grass, and smiles widely at his mother’s gravestone. Delicately, he lays the flowers in front of him, and traces the engraved letters of her name as if he could touch her through them.

His visits to the church over the past few weeks have been far happier than his previous visits. Before, when he spoke to her, it was about what he’d read recently or about the gossip of the servants; now, however, he has actual news to tell her. By now, his mother knows more about James and their relationship than even Zack, his best friend. He tells her about his plans, and the fantasies he has concocted about his future with James, which all include near monthly trips back to the village to see her. He even promises to bring James to see her grave, because that’s the closest they can get. At that point, the tears start. Thankfully, Zack never comments on how red and puffy his eyes are, simply hands over a handkerchief.

Zack returns, a brown parcel tucked under his arm, as Harry assures his mother that he will be free soon, and they make their way back to the house. The cold has grown stronger and sneaks past their multiple layers. Harry’s fingers are numb and his nose stings, shining as bright as Rudolph’s nose. Hot water bottles and hot chocolate are in order when they return.

“Did you finish your errands?”

“Yes. I picked it up from the post office. It’s for you.” He holds out the package nonchalantly, but this is more than just some throwaway gift, no matter what he says.

“For me?” Harry takes it and rips away the flimsy wrappings, and stops short. “Oh, Zack. Thank you.”

“Not at all.” Zack had gifted Harry a book - one that, presumably, wasn’t in their extensive library - on marital law and divorce. It’s a little battered, clearly second hand, but Harry holds it close to his chest as he pulls his valet in for a hug. “I wanted you to be prepared. You should know what you’re getting in to.”

“You don’t disapprove?”

“Of course I don’t disapprove. But, you should have some ideas for that plan when your beau returns. He’s been gone a lot longer than we thought, but he’ll be back. McQueen must just be hard to persuade.”

“I know. I’m not going to lose hope. Come on, let’s get back. We can convince Mrs Barnes to make a vat of hot chocolate, and you can join me by the fire. Maybe I’ll even give you a day off.” Harry feels the grin on his face, marvelling at how easily it comes now. Zack was right, he has changed.

Harry ushers Zack down to the kitchen to seek out some of Mrs Barnes’ treats, trusting that he can get out of his damp and cold clothes on his own. He makes his way upstairs, tugging off his scarf and gloves, day-dreaming about impressing James with all his knowledge of divorces and annulments. If they could have a plan already sorted by the time he gets back from the McQueens’ then they can run away even sooner.

He steps into the bedroom, throwing his outerwear on a nearby chair. The book is still cradled in his arms. Bright red fingers clasp and unclasp, working the blood through the freezing extremities, when a cough interrupts his quiet serenity.

“Ste?”

Ste steps away from the bed, and stalks towards Harry, who backs away a few steps before standing his ground. He won’t be afraid. He won’t be afraid. He has a man who loves him; he’s not a scared seventeen year old boy anymore. He’s an adult, who isn’t afraid. He’s not afraid. Not afraid.

Fingers grip his chin and guide his mouth closer to Ste, who plunders it like a pirate for treasure. Another hand takes his shoulder in a vice like hold. Harry momentarily clutches the book tighter, reminding himself of James’ promises, before placing a hand on his husband’s chest and pushing hard.

Surprised, Ste stumbles back, then advances for more. Harry turns his face away, batting away the hand that comes menacingly close to his jaw again. “Ste, stop. I’m not in the mood.” He looks back up in time to see the fury awaken in Ste’s eyes. His fists clench by his side, and his teeth are bared to the light, glinting and flashing, like some rabid animals’ maw.

“Not in the mood? I thought with your lover gone you’d need some way to relieve all that pent up sexual frustration.” Ste mocks, breathing laboured. Harry feels his own breathing stop, his heart too. He dares not move as Ste turns quickly, retrieving something from the bed, only to throw at Harry. It hits the side of his face, having turned, flinching, to avoid it.

At his feet, black ribbon shimmering, broken open by the fall, is the box of liquorice James had gifted him as an apology. It’s only half eaten, Harry hadn’t seen it in a few weeks, assuming Zack had hidden it to keep it from being thrown away or found. Well, it was found now. And the small handwritten note that had been tucked inside made no secret about who had given it.

Ste looms over him, body pressed up to Harry’s. “Do you think I’m an idiot? All those days in the library, sweets and flowers and favours! I’m not an idiot and I will not have you make a fool of me! Not again! You swore to be a faithful, loyal, loving husband until the day you die! On our wedding day, on several days after that you swore too! Not even a week ago you said the same - that your loyalties would never waver! I should have known that a slut like you would betray me, would try it on with the first man who pays even the slightest bit of attention! You were supposed to be my husband. You were not to have an affair with some lowborn bookworm!”

Harry bites his tongue, hoping to let Ste’s temper run its course and leave him be. If he plays the simpering, meek househusband the maybe he can get out of this unscathed. Just suffer through the insults and the shouting then it will all be over.

Unfortunately, Ste notices the book in Harry’s arms when it prevents him from completely towering over his husband. He snatches it from him, and one look at the cover has him flinging it violently at the wall behind him.

“You dare! You dare to leave me! For him - for that filthy, disgusting scholar! You think he can care for you, Harry? Provide for you? Love you? He’s poor, not a penny to his name, no home, no prospects - and as if he would burden himself with you? A selfish, little daddy’s boy who’s never had to do a hard day’s work in his life, who doesn’t care for consequence for real life problems. You are a burden - as if he loves you. You are deluded if you think you can divorce me! I will not allow it! You are my husband, we said vows, exchanged rings, signed a register - you are my husband!”

“Exactly, Ste! We said vows. We.” Harry’s voice trembled, cowed by the burning anger in his eyes, but, determined, he lets go of five years worth of repressed emotions. Now that eh has his chance, he will not let it go.

“You made the same promises that I did. To love and cherish, to be faithful, to honour and obey, to protect and care for - and you have kept none of them! You forget about your own affair, with a man lower than James - a servant, your valet! You do not honour me as your husband, you treat me like dirt. You make me watch as you love another man, as you treat him the way you should treat me, all while I am in pain because of you! I am sick of being raped and abused and ignored. I am in a loveless marriage I did not ask for - that I do not want - and you blame me for looking for love elsewhere? I tried to be happy with you Ste, we could have been happy, if only you cared more about me than you do about being in my father’s will. Because that is all I am to you - a way to my father’s fortune and protection!

“James sees me as more than that. He doesn’t care for the money or my position or anything - anything but me. He is the first guest in this house who treats me as more than some invalid, some foolish boy to be appeased or ignored. He listens to me and cares about my opinions. There is no doubt in mind that he loves me, and I love him. I know I loved you once Ste, as a childish infatuation with the man who suddenly became my husband. But what I have with James is more than that. It’s more than an affair.

“Because of him, I am my own person now. Before I was merely a shell, and no one could be bothered to see that. Now… Now I feel more alive than I have done in years. I have hope that maybe I can have friends again, have a life, go to university, be in love for once. If you cared one ounce about me you would let me have this, let me go. Please, Ste.”

Harry catches his breath, adrenaline coursing through his veins and making him stand tall in the face of his abuser. Ste, on his part, stares unnervingly at him. Harry can almost see the cogs turning in that thick head of his. Fear slowly starts to overtake the adrenaline.

“So you admit…” Ste starts, his jaw working hard to grind his teeth. He looks like a wolf licking his lips before the kill. “You admit that you’ve been having an affair with James. How long?”

Harry swallows nervously, but he sees no way forward but with the truth. “Over a month. I can’t be sure of exact dates, but almost as long as he’s been here.”

“This whole time? Even after you were found in the library?” Ste scoffs. “I underestimated you, Harry. Keeping this a secret, lying to me and Tony and Diane, finding ways around the rules. You really are a piece of work. But I’ve learnt my lesson now. You will not make a fool of me again, Harry. That I swear.”

Ste stalks away, and for moment Harry deludes himself in thinking that maybe he’ll just be locked in his room forever. But when Ste picks up the discard book, flicking through its pages with his face wrinkled in disgust, it clicks.

“No!” He yells, launching himself across the room just as Ste throws the book into the smouldering fire as kindling. Harry skids to his knees and doesn’t think as he plunges his hand into the rising flames.

He ignores the heat and the niggling sensation of pain, choosing to focus on grabbing the slowly blackening book. Finally, he pulls it out and cries in relief. It’s mostly undamaged, the edges of the pages burnt away, but that’s what margins are for, and the cover has mostly survived. Unlike his hand which he cradles close to his chest, which commands his attention as it burns. It might as well still be licked by the flames and as black as coal for all the agony he is in.

Behind him, Ste growls. He takes Harry by the wrist of his burnt hand and yanks him, stumbling and weak, to his feet. He stops Harry from collapsing to the floor, pulling his body close, not caring as the fabric of his clothes rubs against the blisters on Harry’s hand. Harry’s tears and cries of pain have no effect on his cold and cruel heart.

“So much pain and effort for one book.” He spits. “It will take more than a book to take you away from me. You are my husband, Harry, and that makes you mine - in every sense of the word. Your lover will never win.”

Harry, a sobbing mess of broken skin, tears and rumpled clothing, replies with more strength than he thought possible, “I don’t care what you do to me now. You can beat me within an inch of my life. Break every bone in my body if it pleases you. Bruise me so badly that my face is unrecognisable and there is no pale skin anywhere. I don’t care, because I know love and you do not. Because James will still love me, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.”

Infuriated, Ste hurls Harry to the floor, and begins to divest himself of his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves. He makes a fist with his hand and admires the way the skin stretches over his bony knuckles. From his huddle on the floor, Harry closes his eyes and conjures up his most beloved fantasy.

“Just remember you asked for this.”

*

James sits in a rickety old rocking chair, the setting sun glinting off the liberal grey streaks in his hair and in the neatly trimmed beard that shows off the line of his jaw. A walking stick rests against his chair. It’s not an expensive item, but it has aged elegance to it that matches James’ own sharp, dapper style. It was why Harry had bought it for his husband’s fiftieth birthday. That and the pocket watch the man and been admiring in the window of the village pawn shop for months on end. It took months of saving up, but it was more than worth it to see the look in James’ eyes.

James closes his eyes and basks in the warmth; he doesn’t see, so much as feel, Harry’s approach from the garden. In dirt dusted trousers and a shirt that has had to be sewn up a few more times that advisable, Harry looks a far cry from the man he was over twenty years ago. His skin as tanned and his hands have long since been as soft as a baby’s, and he has allowed his stubble to grow. He still retains an aristocratic posture and speaks too eloquently for their rural village, though.

“My darling.” James murmurs as Harry takes the rocking chair next to his husband. “How is Zack?”

He takes James’ hand and entwines their fingers. “He and Sonia are run ragged by those grandchildren of theirs - they’ll be the death of them.” When he sees how exhausted his former valet and still best friend is, he is infinitely glad that he and James are enough for each other. They don’t need children to prove that they are a family, or to distract from any problems. “Zack can’t wait until they’re off their hands for another few months.”

“I bet.” Harry groans as a sharp pain hits his stomach and he retches, chokes on a shift of his diaphragm. “Harry, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Harry winces as he breathes in, but a moment later, the pain has subsided, gone altogether.

“Yes, I’m fine. I don’t know what that was.” He relaxes back into his chair, suddenly rather tired.

“Are you sure?”

“James, you worry too much. I’m not a child, nor am I weak. I can handle whatever that was.”

“You are neither of those things. But I am your husband. It is my right and privilege to worry about you. I love you so much, Harry, and it would kill me if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will. I love you, too.” He leans over and plants a sweet kiss on James’ lips, pulling away before the other man can make it more heated. “How was your day? Tell me everything.”

“You sure I won’t bore you?”

“Nothing you say can bore me. I do hope the children weren’t playing up too much.”

“Firstly, they wouldn’t dare. Secondly, I don’t think you can call university students children. Anyway, I’m their favourite lecturer. I hope they paid attention, that lecture will be the majority of their exam.”

“I do love you, James. You know that right?”

James lifts their joined hands and gently kisses the back of Harry’s hand. His gaze locks on to Harry, and he stares deep into his eyes. Harry sighs, his minute fears fading away. There is nothing but pure, unadulterated love in his eyes, and there is no doubt that it is reciprocated.

“I could never love anyone else, Harry Maxwell-Brown.”

*

Zack expertly balances the tray in his arms, grinning at the thought of draining the mugs of hot chocolate and devouring the iced gingerbread biscuits that Mrs Barnes had conjured up for him and Harry. He knows he took longer downstairs than he meant to, but it was worth it to have these treats. He had never been more glad of the cook’s soft spot for the young lord.

He knocks on the door out of habit, for propriety’s sake. The lack of reply only bothers him a little; he assumes Harry might be sleeping. Things can’t change over night and it wouldn’t be the first time his master has fallen asleep right after returning from a walk. He wouldn’t blame him for being tired.

Zack pushes into the room and is confused at first. It seems empty. A fire burns in the grate and everything seems to be as it should. Until he rounds the bed to put the tray onto the table by the window and he sees Harry. The tray falls from his hands, cocoa staining the carpet and the plates scattering broken biscuits everywhere.

Harry is so still, so cold, half hidden underneath an already bloody sheet. His clothes are scattered around him in shredded piles. The book Zack had only a handful of hours ago given to Harry smokes lightly by the fire, but is mostly intact. Unlike Harry’s hand which looks like a burnt steak against the cream carpet. Already bruises stain his skin like some demented oil painting, his face lost behind the blood and swelling. Zack doesn’t want to think about the injuries he cannot see.

“Help!” He yells, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Someone help! Call a doctor! Please!”

He staggers and falls down next to his lord, scared to even touch lest he hurt him even more. Up close he can see the shallow rise and fall of Harry’s chest and he breathes easy for a moment. At least he is still alive. He can hear the thunder of footsteps coming to his call, and he registers Brendan and Darren behind him before they rush off again to summon a hundred doctors.

“Harry.” Zack whispers. “Harry, can you hear me? It’s going to be okay. They’re bringing the doctor now - I won’t leave your side. I promise, everything will be okay. Just focus on my voice, Harry.”

Zack doesn’t believe his own words. There is no doubt in his mind who is responsible for this, just like there is no doubt that the man will face no repercussions for this save for a few stern words from Lord Tony. The man will be forgiven by his father-in-law and warned not to let his temper get the better of his again, but he will face no charges from the law and once Harry is healed, he will take what he wants yet again.

Zack fumes at his helpless position. James is still away, helping this wretched family, and will not be told of what has happened until he returns.

And he may be too late. Harry’s breathing hitches, and a trickle of blood seeps past his lips and drips down to the carpet. Tears mingle with the blood on his face, both Harry’s own and Zack’s.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not my best writing in this chapter, but we finally see my version of John Paul McQueen and his family, with a twist at the end. Have fun, enjoy!! xx

The McQueen estate is rather unimpressive, James thinks upon first setting eyes on the manor and its surrounding grounds. It’s standard as far as mansions go: a large house and wide expanses of field all around, but there’s nothing like the Hutchinson’s expansive library, or the Nightingale ballrooms in the McQueen manor. The only defining characteristic is the collection of gaudy statues that litter the gardens. He passes ten on his way in, all depicting men and women in various romantic poses and all rather lacking in quality. Chipped terracotta and fading paint, not to mention some unintentional missing limbs and worn away faces.

His motor car pulls up outside the front door, the welcoming party is sparse and doesn’t included the man he came to see. Instead, three women of different ages stand out in the cold, bundled up in the winter fashions of two years ago, waiting with varied patiences. He approaches the woman at the front, bows slightly and kisses the back of her extended hand.

“Thank you for welcoming me on such short notice. I don’t mean to impose.” He smiles charmingly, and two out of three swoon appropriately.

“And yet you do.” Remarks the youngest of them, who is James’ equal in age. He doesn’t recognise her, but from his mother’s gossip he can guess. Lady Mercedes McQueen is rather a boisterous woman, who, despite the family’s dwindling funds, still manages to make herself known. Usually through her well oiled and practiced vocal chords.

“I apologise for my grand-daughter, it’s the winter chill, you know what I mean.” James doesn’t. The eldest, the matriarch, clearly spouting nonsense, shoots Mercedes a piercing glare before beaming up at James once again. “I’m Marlena, this is my daughter Myra, and her daughter Mercedes. Do come in.” She leads the way inside in an imitation of a glide, but she fails. No matter her attempts to remain glamorous in her old age she isn’t doing as well as she suspects she is.

James follows them to a drawing room, packed to the brim with the rest of the McQueen clan, the majority of whom are women. He has to look at Myra twice before he remembers how he knows her. An old friend of his mother’s, but thankfully his cover will be safe - one of the few reasons to be thankful for Mac’s strict rules on visitors to the house, and for James’ few and far between excursions outside of the house to visit other families.

“Tea, Mister?” Myra asks, gesturing for the footman to come closer.

“Yes, please.”

He takes his seat in the only empty armchair, and observes the family. All too easily he can see the familial bonds between them in the way that they all laugh and grin like madmen, but also the feuds. He catches the glare Mercedes shoots to one of her cousins, a rather rowdy woman who sits beside two teenage boys, presumably her sons. James’ mother was right, this house is a hotbed of gossip and slander. So much that he can use against them.

He can’t imagine his own family acting like this. Of course, they get along and smiles are not rare in their house. But the shadow of his father always hung over them, darkening their brightest moments. He both envies and derides the McQueen family.

“So what business do you have with us?” Mercedes demands, only to be chided by her mother for speaking so brashly and out of turn. James waves away Lady Myra’s apologies.

“I came to speak with John Paul. We’ve been writing about the history of your family for my research paper on the aristocracy.”

“Oh, nothing interesting then?”

“Not really. It is rather dull to most, but I find it interesting at least.”

Marlena smiles simperingly at him, “John Paul will be down soon, he’s just in his study.”

“Ah, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Says Myra, as the door opens and the man in question enters. He’s not unattractive; James admits that in another world, had he not heard about what he did to Harry, James would’ve courted him, maybe even proposed to him. He has an educated look about him, which is far more than some of his family, but he has none of Harry’s energy.

“Maxwell-Brown, I take it?” John Paul McQueen looks like a traditional Prince Charming when he smiles. But James’ gut curls and he forces a smile and a nod in return. “Why don’t we get to business. If you’ll follow me?”

James bids goodbye to the rest of the McQueen clan, bowing to the matriarch Marlena and nodding his head in respect to Mercedes, who simply smirks at him. As he approaches the door, James’ eye is drawn to the youngest lady in the room. She can’t be any older than Harry and is a delicate little thing, like a bird. And she is staring right at him. Her gaze is unnerving; it’s as if she knows what he is really doing here. At McQueen’s beckoning, James turns his back on the woman and follows him to the study.

The study is packed with books on every surface, even the bookshelves are double stacked, and they make good work of hiding the cracks in the walls and the shady furniture. It’s quite adverse to Lord Tony’s own study, which advertises the grandiosity and riches of the family.

McQueen sits at his desk, and gestures to the hard, stiff-backed chair on the other side. Despite how uncomfortable it is, how the back presses into his spine, James relaxes into it like a king. “So, you need to know about my family history? You’re at liberty to speak with the family, and I’ll get someone to show you the family trees and books. You can pore over them to your heart’s content. I have a room prepared for you, it’s not much but I doubt you need much.”

“I’ll stop you there, my Lord. I’m not here to research your family. I couldn’t care less about your heritage and blue blood.”

Unruffled, but sitting noticeably straighter in his seat, McQueen watches James like a hawk. Eerily similar to the young woman from before, he’s trying to work out how he knows James. “Oh? Why are you here then?”

“I’m here on Lord Hutchinson’s behalf.”

McQueen scoffs, looking like he’s won already. If he leans aback in his chair even further, James thinks with satisfaction, the man might fall over and crack his skull open. Then he wouldn’t be a problem.

“Tony really thinks he can send some jumped up labourer in a suit to scare me away! That’s rich. Whatever he’s offering, if it’s not what I demanded, then you might as well leave now. Because I will go to the papers with this.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will. I can prove that his precious son is as pure as shit and more. I have the letters.”

“If by letters you mean fabrications that wouldn’t hold up in court, then yes, you do. But we won’t need to go to court, not if you do as I say.”

McQueen scoffs, looking at James like he’s a fool. “And what is that? What puny demands does Tony have?”

“You will burn whatever ‘evidence’ you think you have. You will never again bother the Hutchinson’s, Harry especially. You will get no money, no endorsements, no help from them. To them, you will cease to exist.”

The other man leans over the desk, “or what? Neither you nor Tony nor Ste, not even little Harry, can do anything. Not with what I have.”

Calmly, James replies, “you will do what I say, because if you do not, your family will be at the heart of one of the biggest scandals of the last century. I know things about you and your nearest and dearest that would make your hair curl.”

McQueen freezes. He mulls over James’ words. Is he telling the truth or is he lying just like he himself? James smirks, smug satisfaction setting in.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your cousin, or is he your son? Little Matthew is rather the young charmer, or so I’m told. He must get his good looks from his father. It’s one thing to illegitimate child, but another to lie about who he is.” Check-mate. James quirks a brow and revels in seeing the panic in John Paul’s face. It’s so good to see the tables turned.

“No. You can’t blackmail me. Tony’s too weak to do that.”

“Lord Hutchinson might be, but I’m not. And I have more where that came from. I’m sure the press would love to know about your criminal associates, not to mention the criminals in the family. Oh, and my personal favourite, what exactly happened to Dr Browning, and Carl Costello, and Glenn Donovan. That really would ruin your family, wouldn’t it?”

“You dare!”

“Yes. Now hand over whatever materials you have on any of the Hutchinson’s.”

Though it is a touch pill to swallow, John Paul stalks to a hefty filing cabinet in the corner and yanks out several files, grumbling all the while. “This is everything, I swear.” He says, when James shoots him a questioning glance.

After flicking leisurely through the files, taking the information for himself, James throws them into the fire, stoking it until they are nothing more than a pile of ash. He remarks serenely, “if I find out that you hid anything from me, I will not hesitate to reveal your secrets to the world. And if you go after Harry, it will be more than reputation and riches on the line. It will be your life.”

James waits for McQueen to nod in agreement, before perking up again and sitting back at the desk. “I just need your signature on some contracts - I’m sure you’ll find everything agreeable - then I will be gone in the morning.”

“In the morning?”

“I’ve had a rather long journey to get here, and it’s a long one back. I need the rest, and you will be more than accommodating.” James take out the papers and hand them over, settling back in his chair as if it were a throne.

McQueen signs the contracts after a brief read through, he doesn’t even ask fo a lawyer which James finds laughable, upon the condition that James not come down for dinner with the family. James agrees; he wasn’t looking forward to dinner with the rabble anyway.

On his way upstairs to while away the evening dreaming about reuniting with Harry, the young woman from the drawing room steps into his path. Her mouth is set in a determined line and her arms are folded across her chest.

“Can I help you?”

“I know why you’re here. And it’s not for some history project. You came from the Hutchinson’s.” Though she seems confident in her deductions, James detects her insecurities.

“Someone’s likes to eavesdrop.”

She fidgets uncomfortably, “I didn’t do it on purpose. I just overhear things and… things are boring around here, I need something to stimulate my mind.”

“Well, you’re right. I’m here on Lord Hutchinson’s word. What of it?”

“Does his son still live there?”

“Harry? Yes.”

“Is he okay? It’s just… we used to be friends, very good friends. Him and I, and Aiden and Kyle, sometimes. Plus Zack when no parents were watching. I haven’t heard form him in years, despite the many letters I’ve sent. I just ant to know he’s okay. The last I heard he was getting married to his father’s ward, but he’d never given a thought to marriage before, he was too determined to go to university. Just tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s as well as he can be, under the circumstances.” James can’t lie to this girl, not if she’s a friend of Harry’s. Clearly she cares about him, which means she’s on his side. “But I’m trying to help.”

“That’s why you’re blackmailing my family. For Harry?”

“Yes. And I’m not going to let anyone stop me from helping him.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. I just want you to give him this.” From the pocket of her skirt, she takes out a letter. Harry name is written in beautiful calligraphy on the front. She seems reluctant to hand it over for a moment, before thrusting it into James’ hands. “I’ve written letters before and he’s not replied, but if you could just make sure he at least reads this one.”

“Who shall I say it’s from?”

“Cleo. Hopefully he’ll remember me. I don’t care if he replies. Actually, I do. But even it’s to tell me to get lost and lose all hope of being friends again, I want to know he’s still alive.” She laughs sadly, her joke falling flat. It seems she isn’t as clueless about Harry’s husband as she makes out.

“I’ll make sure he reads it, and if he doesn’t reply, I will. You seem like a good friend, Cleo. He’ll come to his senses.”

Cleo smiles at him, pushing her sad thoughts away. “Will I see you at dinner?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning. I have to get back soon.”

“Well then, sleep well, Mr Maxwell-Brown, and… thank you.”

“Goodnight, my lady.”

James slips past her to the room the servants and prepared for him, where his sparse luggage was waiting for him. Thankfully, McQueen hadn’t ordered a valet to look after him tonight. He can’t handle another person engaging him in conversation, especially not someone loyal to this house who might take it upon themselves to protect their master. This is why James needs to leave as soon as possible. He can’t risk his plans being upset.

He puts Cleo’s letter to Harry safely in a pocket of his case, not even thinking about taking a peak. If it were addressed to anyone else he wouldn’t have hesitated, but this is Harry, the man he loves. Harry trust means the world to him, and that he won it from such a beaten down young man in the first place makes it priceless. He’s so stupid as to throw it away. Besides, such a betrayal of trust might lose him Harry for good.

Despite the early hour, James readies for bed and prepares his things for a hasty exit. He’d be delusional if he expected a ceremony or even a few members of the family to wave him away. All James wants right now, is to be back in Harry’s arms and working out a way to release him from his marriage.

James falls asleep to fantasies about a future with Harry. Lounging in the setting sun on matching rocking chairs on the porch of their countryside cottage. Deep into old age, they would still love each other, they would need no one but each other.

*

McQueen had promised that a car would be ready to take him to the station at dawn, both of them eager to see the backs of each other. If he never saw John Paul McQueen again it would be too soon. The car does not move fast enough for James that morning. He lamest waves goodbye to the house as it fades into the dust.

The train station is empty save for a few bleary eyed commuters. James steps out of the car, takes his luggage from the chauffeur and is quickly left alone. His train won’t be here for another few hours. James is left to his own devices, to shiver in the early morning chill and watch the people slowly come to the platform.

The train journey is infuriatingly uneventful. There is nothing to distract James from thoughts of Harry and his return. In a malicious corner of his mind images of Harry’s family, furious at having discovered the affair, start to form and before long they are all he can think about. By the time the train pulls into Hollyoaks train station, James is ready to sprint to the house and carry Harry out in a fireman’s lift.

He grabs his case and leaps from the train, pushing past the people waiting to board, but skids to a stop at the exit. He can’t quite believe his eyes. There, clearly waiting for him, is his brother, Nathan, in a black suit looking rather miserable. It has been so long since he last saw his little brother, that James can’t help but notice how much taller he has gotten and the laughter lines that have grown more prominent. Nathan is a grown man now, no longer the young teenager James had left behind.

“Nathan.”

“Hello, James. Long time, no see.” It seems neither of them are that good at small talk. As brothers they have never been close. The younger of is siblings always had that unbreakable bond and James was left on the outside. Not that he resented that much, it was partly his fault. And he could better look out for them on the outside.

“What are you doing here? I’m rather in a hurry, brother.”

Nathan steps closer, hands thrust deep in his pockets. “I can tell. But it’ll have to wait. I’m glad I caught you here, because we have a train to catch. You’re needed at home.”

James’ jaw tightens. “I’ve told you before - I am not going back home. Your previous attempts have failed, so why now. I might finally have something worth living for.”

“You mean the married son of Lord Hutchinson? Mother made some educated guesses. And I don’t want to have to drag you home by the scruff of your neck, but I will.”

“Why?”

“Because father is dead.”

“…What?”

“He’s been paralysed and helpless for years, ever since the incident. It was just a matter of him wasting away. Which he did, two days ago. Died in his sleep.”

“Has there been an inquest?” Is all James can manage, his business brain taking over, his emotions being pushed down.

“Natural causes.”

“Is it right?” Nathan shrugs, and James smirks. Finally his family are on his side.

“Why do I have to come home? He wouldn’t want me at his funeral, and I don’t want to be there. The man can be eaten by crows for all I care. It’s not like I was family to him after all.”

“We gave him the quickest and cheapest funeral we could. He;’s cold in the ground. But, surprisingly, actually, you were family to him.” Nathan manages a smile at James’ confusion. “You’re in the will. You inherit everything. So you see now that you have to come home. It’s time things changed, and you can do it. We want you home, James. Mother worries about you constantly, especially with this affair you’re in; Ellie misses having someone to talk to, about men and relationships; Alfie needs his chess partner back - you know I’m terrible.”

“And you?”

“You’re my brother. My protector, my teacher, my confidant. You can’t be replaced, James, and I want you back. Please, James. Come home.”

James can feel his resolve weakening. For so long he has been isolated from his family, even when they lived under the same roof. His father’s machinations and manipulations had made his life a living hell, but now the man is dead and buried. He can no longer threaten him or his siblings. No more will he have to fear being a disappointment to the man. Despite making a life for himself as a scholar away from home, now he is truly free.

“You need me to take my place as head of the family?” He asks, though he already knows the answer. Though Mac had always told James that he should be more like Nathan if he wanted to inherit, Nathan has never had the desire to lead the family, and neither did Alfie. There is only James.

Nathan’s expression softens, “I know you never expected this, and I know you have a life and plans now. But we need you, you were born for this. And wouldn’t it be better if you can give this Lord Harry of yours the life he deserves, the life he’s used to. You can return to him in a few weeks.”

Nathan is right. Though he worries that Harry may suffer while he is away, a few weeks are nothing compared to the lifetime of happiness and comfort that he can offers once he returns. Harry is smart and strong; he can survive and handle himself for a while.

“Alright. But I’ll be back here in a few weeks to finish my business with the Hutchinson’s.”

“Very well. Now, come on, there’s a train back home in a few minutes.”

Nathan moves past him to buy their tickets as James stares towards the village and the estate beyond it. To be so close to Harry just to leave once more feels like torture. With a dejected sigh, James turns around and follows his brother back home.


	9. Chapter 9

A few weeks later, returning from his family home, an exhausted James walks from the train station to the Hutchinson estate. He is worn out from being pulled in so many directions by his family. He knows they meant well, but having to choose between catching up on Ellie’s adventures, playing chess with Alfie, gossiping with his mother, and dealing the chaotic finances that his father had left them, had left him irate and snappy. The train journey had gone some way to soothing his mind, and the brisk walk had also helped. But James knows he won’t be truly at peace until Harry is safely by his side.

As the manor looms over him, a dark feeling of foreboding falls over James. He knows he shouldn’t expect Harry to be leaning out of the windows waving at him or greeting him with enthusiastic kisses at the door, but he can’t help the disappointment he feels at the closed door and dark windows. The craving he feels for Harry gnaws at his insides, and he might just punch Tony in the face and yell at him to get out of the way.

He rings the doorbell and after a moment it is opened by S’Avage, the butler, who seems to have aged a great deal in the few weeks James has been gone. Without a word, he ushers James in and beckons forth Will, one of the footmen, who relieves him of his luggage. James is taken to the library to await Lord Tony’s arrival. The ominous feeling in his chest has not abated, in fact, it has worsened. The looks exchanged between the servants and the quiet of the house unnerve him. Something really bad is happened.

Lord Tony arrives, as genial and dashing as ever. If he is affected by the dour mood surrounding the house he does not show it. He shakes James’ hand and moves to pour some whiskey. As he takes outa glass, he pauses.

“I presume you come bearing good news?”

“Yes, my Lord.” At the confirmation, he nods and pours James a drink as well.

“You’ve been gone quite a while, Mr Maxwell-Brown. Did the McQueens prove too much for you? They can be quite the rowdy bunch. Rather uncultured if you ask me.” Lord Tony sniffed pompously. He gestures to the chair opposite him as he takes a seat, leaning back in the armchair as if it were a throne.

“Actually, McQueen was laughably easy to intimidate. I was pulled away by personal matters, I apologise for not writing to reassure you.”

Tony waves away his apology, leaning in closer with a hungry look in his eyes. “You’re telling me that he gave up? He submits?”

“Yes, my Lord. After some blackmail of my own. I also have something that might please you - a contract, signed by John Paul McQueen himself, declaring that he will never attempt to blackmail you again.” From the inside pocket of his jacket, James takes out a piece of paper and hands it one to the eager lord. “If he should break the agreement, his own dirty secrets will be made public.”

Lord Tony eyes the document like it was made of gold. He thanks James without looking at him and offers him a debt, anything he wants and it will be done, nothing is too big or too small. He rushes out of the room without another word, presumably to lock the paper in the safe or somewhere impossible to find.

Assuming his business with the lord be over, James stands to rings the bell beside the fireplace. They can relay a message to Harry for him, arranging a meeting somewhere private. When the door opens he turns, expecting the butler or one of the valets. Instead he is met with Lord Ste Hay’s fist cracking against his cheekbone.

James staggers back, catching himself against the arm of the sofa. The storm raging on Ste’s face is terrifying, and if he were a lesser man he would cower away in terror. As it is, he swiftly dodges Ste’s next punch and stands tall, shoulders back.

“I could get you arrested for this. Life imprisonment isn’t something you can easily shake off.” Thank god for the law degree his father made him take. James is confident he could get Ste sent down, even with his blue blood. Ste seems to recognise this too, clenching his fists by his side and scowling, but stepping away.

“You’re a bastard, Maxwell-Brown.” Ste growls.

Tony chooses that moment to reenter the room, his elated expression falling into one of righteous anger. “What is going on here?”

James runs a thumb over the cut on his cheek, unsurprised when it comes back stained red. He can feel that the bone isn’t broken, though, so that is a relief. “You’re son-in-law attacked me for no reason. That’s what’s going on.”

“No reason? No reason?” Ste yells, leaning forward like a lion poised to pounce on his prey. “You’ve been having an affair with my husband!”

James freezes. How long has he known? What has happened to Harry? The bleak atmosphere cloaking this house suddenly makes depressing sense. The door opens and S’Avage and one of the footmen enter silently, watching the gentlemen warily.

“Ste? What are you talking about?” Lord Tony asks, as tense as the servants.

“I knew there was something going on between the two of you the day you left, but Harry convinced me otherwise. But then I worked it out last week. Harry told me everything. You really should be more careful where you hide your gifts!” He spits in James’ face. “I should’ve done something when you were found in the library. I should’ve looked him in his room and sent you packing the day you came!”

Tony’s mouth opens and close like a dumbstruck fish, as he stares at his son-in-law in confusion. “Is that why…?” He trails off, yet Ste understands.

“He deserved worse. And so does he!” Ste lunges at James, but is caught around the waist by Lord Tony and held back.

“Is this true, Maxwell-Brown?” His Lordship asks. James knows that if he tells the truth, the man’s anger will match Ste’s. “Did you continue your… relationship with my son after I expressly forbade you to?”

James swallows the dictate that sours his mouth, and lies. “There is nothing going on between myself and your son. There never was. Whatever you think happened, did not. I swear.”

It seems James is a seasoned liar, as the two men accept it with minimal fuss. They have no grounds to attack him, and Tony is honour bound to host James for the night as thanks for his help. But even lying can’t erase the tension in the room.

“I think I will retire to my room now. If I may be excuse, your Lordship?”

Lord Tony nods and James makes a hasty retreat. The footman leads him a guest room, not the one he had originally occupied. As the servant prepares to leave, James calls out to him. The young man stands firm under Jame’s sharp gaze, back ramrod straight, though the mischievous glint in his eyes that James spied last time is gone.

“Harry. Where is he?”

Something in Will’s face twitches, but his trained composure doesn’t break. “He’s in his room, sir. Dinner will be served shortly. Will you require a valet?” Will pauses, before continuing smoothly. “I believe Loveday may be able to help if you need him.”

James accepts the hint. “Help would be appreciated. I’ve had a long journey and am rather tired. If you could tell him to be up as soon as possible to unpack my things.”

“Of course, sir. Is there anything else I do for you?”

“No, thank you, Will. You’ve been most helpful.”

Will bows and departs. James tries to wait patiently for Zack to come and fill him in, but each time he attempts to sit down or stand still, his mind starts to wander. If Ste dared to punch a guest in the house what would he do the husband he already beats? Why do all the servants look so depressed? What do they know? And how is Lord Tony so damn oblivious? It’s only by pacing a hole in the floor that James can quiet his mind a little.

According to the crystal clock on the mantle, barely five minutes have passed when Zack arrives. He looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in weeks. His uniform is rumpled and his hair untamed. His suffering is made clear in every step he takes and every breath he breathes. Oh, what misery has befallen this house!

“Maxwell-Brown.” Zack says tersely. “You’re late.”

James curses. Of course! None of this would have happened if he had ignored Nathan’s pleas at the train station that day. He would’ve been there when Ste found out and could’ve defended Harry, been a shield against Ste’s anger. This was his fault.

“I’m sorry. If I had known, I would’ve come in a heartbeat.”

Zack is not swayed by simple words, and rightly so. “Will says something personal came up. I thought Harry was your priority. What could be more important than him?” His voice rises in volume until he’s almost shouting. He restrains himself before he calls any attention to them. Remembering his place, Zack begins to unpack James’ bags, turning away from the man. James has never seen someone fold clothes arrange toiletries in such an aggressive manner.

“How does Will know? I wasn’t aware he was in the room at that point.” James changes the subject, arguing over his guilt will not change a thing.

“He listens at doors.” James nods; that makes sense.

“My father died.” He admits in a whisper. “We weren’t close. God knows, I hated him. But I don’t hate the rest of my family, and they needed me. I didn’t intend to be gone for so long. If there was a way I could be in two places at once, and help my family and Harry, I would have done so. If I could turn back time… Please, tell me he’s okay.”

“He’s alive. Not that that counts for much - the pain he’s in.” Zack finally turns around, tears shining in his eyes. “You should see him.” A humourless chuckle escapes his lips. “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, but this is the worst. I thought it would break him - it has before - but he’s still smiling. He spits in Ste’s face when he sees him; he swears like a sailor at his father and Diane; he’s not denying anything. He has hope. Because of you he has hope. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing.”

Through his grief and pain, pride bursts in James’ heart. That’s the Harry he knows and loves. That side of him only comes out when they are alone, after he’s loosened up by conversation and wine. The Harry that tells him his opinions on the death penalty and prison reforms are irrelevant, who can wax poetic about both fashion and sport, is the man James loves. How many times had James urged him to be more open and relaxed, to be more than a mindless househusband?

“He’s standing up for himself. Isn’t that what we all wanted for him? To be out from under his husband’s thumb. To be his own person again.”

“Not at this price.” Zack shakes his head, but leads James out of the bedroom towards a room at the very end of the corridor, as far from his room as possible. He doubts this is a coincidence. It isn’t the room Harry shared with his husband, for which James is glad. He never wants to be in that room.

The closer he gets the header his heart pounds. Anticipation runs through his veins, urging him to break into a sprint. But he holds himself back reluctantly. He wants Harry in his arms, safe and sound, and he wants it now. But there’s no need to scare him, or hurt him. Restraint might be needed now.

Zack enters first, warning James to stay outside with one sharp look. James would never defy Zack in mother-hen mode, but he takes a leaf out of Will the footman’s book and steps close enough to the door to hear. The sound of Harry’s voice, so close, is like the sweetest opium straight to his veins. He is a drug and James is addicted.

“Zack. Back so soon? So… Was it James? I doubt we have any other guests - it must be him. Well? Zack.”

Zack replies, “It’s him. He wants to see you, if you’re up for it. Harry, you don’t have to, you know that. You don’t owe him anything.”

“I know that. I don’t need a man to save me, but he has helped and I love him. Now will you please show him in before I leap out of this bed and drag him in myself.”

James steps back as Zack opens the door and allows him through. He nods politely at the valet, silently assuring him that he will cross no boundaries Harry sets, that he will be respectful. Zack accepts with a purse of his lips.

James is not prepared for the sight of Harry laid up in bed. Though his smile is wide and bright and his eyes sparkle in delight, his skin is stained red, green and yellow; bandages cross his chest under the blankets, and a plaster encased leg rests on a pile of pillows. There are various cuts and scrapes on his body, and one particularly terrifying collection of gauze and tape on his left hand.

“James.” Harry breathes his name as if it were the name of God, or something equally a precious and revered. As if James were the air he breathes, the food he eats and the water he drinks. As if James were everything. The churn of guilt in his stomach brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

Harry blanches. “Why are you sorry? James, there’s nothing to be sorry for. ”

Furiously, James shakes his head. “I could’ve been here weeks ago. I could’ve stopped this. I’m sorry for letting this happen to you.” Through the blur of tears, James sees Harry start to scowl. James is startled by the pure emotion in Harry’s face; there’s so much anger and annoyance and frustration.

“You are a stupid man, James Maxwell-Brown. This is not your fault. And nor is it mine. What we’ve done - what we’re doing - is wrong, I know, but it’s no excuse for this.” He gestures down at his bedridden and broken body. “This is all Ste’s fault. There is no excuse for domestic violence or abuse. I would understand anger at finding out your husband is having an affair, but not violent fury. And we both know this isn’t the first time he has hurt me. This is all Ste’s fault, so don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You didn’t stand and watch it and do nothing to help, you weren’t to know. I do not blame you and you shouldn’t blame yourself. Now, come here and kiss me.”

James crosses the room in three strides and takes Harry’s face in his hands and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. He tries to hold back, wary of hurting him, but Harry is determined to make up for lost time. He makes the most of their first kiss in weeks. James pulls back, breathless and in awe of this most incredible man.

“I love you so much, Harry. I wish there had been no emergency to pull me away.”

“I love you too. Now, how did it go?”

“Very well. And soon, you will be a free man.”

Harry beams at him. James tries to take his hand in his, but when his fingers meet cloth instead of skin, he startles.

“What happened?”

Harry swallows, bad memories surfacing. “I burnt it. While getting a book out of the fireplace.” He gestures to the beside table. Among pill bottles and spare bandages sit an empty box of liquorice and a charred book. James recognises the box as his gift to Harry, the day that they were found out the first time, but the book is new. He picks it up and smiles at the title. “Ste threw it into the fire.”

“I can see why.” The embossed title can still be made out. A book about divorce law; Harry has been doing his research.

“Zack bought it. He thought I could do with brushing up on the subject. Unfortunately, that was the day Ste found the sweet box and, more specifically, the note. But I’ve managed to read quite a bit around the burn marks.”

James flicks through the pages, out of sheer curiosity. “How do you still have this? Why has he not taken it off you?”

“I’ve recently come into a stubborn streak, and I think he’s too busy with other things to care what books I own.”

“You reached into a fire to pull this out. You purposely hurt yourself to save something that represented our plans together. Now who’s the stupid one? That was reckless, and stubborn.” James gazes imploringly into his eyes, gently taking the bandaged hand in his. “Please, don’t do that again.”

“I won’t, so long as you don’t throw my books into a fire.” Harry smiles, and brings his healthy hand up to cup James’ cheek. “I would burn my hand and more to save you, James. I mean it. I love you with all of my being.”

Harry’s brow furrows, his thumb ceasing to stroke James’ cheek. “Ste punched you, didn’t he.” He doesn’t sound surprised, merely resigned. “You need some ice on that. Zack!” The valet enters swiftly, and is sent on an errand for ice.

“You don’t have to fret so much, Harry. It’s just a bruise - I’ve had much worse.”

“I don’t care. It must hurt.”

Suddenly, something switches in James. “You’re absolutely right. It does hurt. Will you kiss it better?” He looks at Harry as innocently as possible.

Harry chuckles and humours him, pulling James close enough to kiss, and his properly. There is nothing sweet and proper about their kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and the beautiful press of skin and bruises. Though James attempts to be careful he can’t help his craving for Harry. They break away when Zack returns with the ice wrapped in a towel.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Though he doesn't look too sorry. James takes the ice and holds it to his face. “Though perhaps you could stick to less strenuous activities while Harry is on bedrest.” He gives them a loaded look and heads for the door. As he twists the doorknob, he says, “S’Avage will ring the gong soon, and I’ll have to dress you for dinner, Mr Maxwell-Brown. Just so you are aware.”

“Thank you, Zack.” Harry turns back to James. “I guess we have enough time for you to fill me in on your quest, at least about the McQueens.”

“I don’t wish to burden you with talk of that man. Maybe we can discuss some happier things?”

“No, James. Tell me.”

“Very well. I arrived and was shown into the drawing room by three women - I didn’t quite believe how large that family is, or how…odd. But the business with John Paul was over quite quickly. He was overly confident and quick to surrender. He might be fine airing other people’s dirty laundry, but when it comes to his own he ran away with his tail between his legs. I found it quite amusing.”

“I don’t doubt that. It would’ve been good to see him brought low. If only you could have taken a photograph and commemorate it.”

“Maybe not a photograph, but I’m tempted to commission a grand painting of my victory. It could hang in our living room.”

Harry’s eyes mist over, he daydreams of their future together. “In our living room. Our living room. It sounds wonderful. But wouldn’t it be out of place in our little home. One grand framed painting in some cottage.”

James shifts in his seat. “Oh, I almost forgot. One of the McQueens - a Cleo McQueen - gave me something to give to you.” He takes Cleo’s letter from inside his jacket and places it in Harry’s hands. But his face falls when he sees the blank expression on the young man’s face. “Harry? What’s wrong? What is it?”

“Cleo. I haven’t seen her in years; I haven’t spoken to her in even longer. Most of my friends left me after I got married.”

“She said she’d written you letters. According to her it was you who didn’t reply.”

“I never got any letters.” A moment later, Harry groans in realisation. “Ste. He must have intercepted any letters from my friends. Oh, God, they must think me a right idiot - abandoning them once I got married. I have to make this right.” With shaking hands, Harry rips open the seal on the letter, just as the echo of the gong reaches their ears.

James halts his trembling fingers. The world is cruel to force him from the bedside of the man he loves just to dine with the family who had hurt him. “I must show my face at dinner; we can’t have them suspect me. You should have privacy while you read her letter, too. I’ll come later if I can, tomorrow morning at the latest.” James stands and kisses his forehead. Harry is staring at the folded piece of paper in his lap. He says nothing, so James leaves without another word.

Zack dresses him in silence. Neither of them are inclined to talk. Because while James has eradicated the McQueen problem and Harry has been researching divorce, they are still noticeably without a plan.

Throughout dinner James keeps the peace. He entertains the family with tales of his visit to the McQueens, and listens patiently as Diane and Sinead respond with local gossip. He nods politely and pays his compliments. But while he knows he has Lord Tony convinced that he’s innocent and well-well-meaning - the gullible and naive man that he is - Ste is less convinced. Throughout the meal he sends suspicious glances his way, smirking as if he knows something James doesn’t. It is unnerving, and James just wants to elope with Harry right now.

Once the plates are cleared, James readies to make his excuses for the night. But Lord Tony cuts him off and asks him to talk over port and cigars. It’s more of an order, as James is in no position to refuse. Unfortunately, Tony sends Ste away for privacy’s sake and the smile on Ste’s face is too happy. James has no choice but to stay.

“We’ve had our differences, that’s true. But the debt I owe you still stands.” Lord Tony says. “As payment for your services you can have any favour. I can pay twice the university’s salary, get you a house, some land, even a knighthood if I push. If you get in trouble with the law, God forbid, I can put in a good word.” He pauses, draining his port. “I believe in second chances. I believe in grace and mercy and the inner good of people. So let’s forget the past. Shall we?” He holds out his hand and James shakes it.

“Thank you, my Lord, you are too gracious.” Tony smiles smugly, making a show of standing and straightening his suit. James follows him to the drawing room for coffee. It seems his plans to slip away have been foiled.

In the drawing room, Ste is conspicuous by his absence. The lack of eyes burning holes in his back is worse than their presence. Because while Ste is out of sight, James has no idea what he is doing. He could be hurting Harry further and James is helpless. In an effort to distract himself, James allows Diane to pull him into an inane debate on fashion. When Ste returns a few minutes later, smug and pleased a punch at something, James’ stomach turns. Fear constricts his throat and he can barely hum in agreement with Diane.

By the time the family call it a night, it is nearing midnight. They troop upstairs and James has no choice but to go straight to his room. The terror and apprehension curling in his belly and the tension knotting his muscles have exhausted him. Oh, to fall asleep and not wake up for days, there would be nothing better.

Zack is not in the room to help him undress, but that is no problem. Once his dressing gown is wrapped tightly over his pyjamas, he peers out of his room. The corridor is dark, and deathly silent. He waits a moment, ears seeking out any sound from down the hall, then bravely steps out and, like a thief, tip-toes his way past the family rooms.

He reaches the room Harry is sequestered inside just as the door opens and a furious Zack steps out and grabs him by his pyjamas and shoves him against the wall. James is startled, and easily has the wind knocked out of him.

“You damned liar!” Zack spits in his face, hissing like an enraged snake. “You dare to make a fool of him - to lead him on then leave him hanging like a kite on a string - when you never intended to do any of it! Do you think it fun? To give a man false hope and make him think that you love him back? You are a cruel, callous man, completely without morals! If I were you, I’d make my excuses to His Lordship and never set foot here again. Harry can leave without your help!” With a disgusted grunt, Zack shoves away from James and returns to Harry’s room. The lock clicks and the bolt slams home, the noise echoing through the corridor.

A cold shiver runs down James’ spine. What the hell just happened? Slowly, he slides down the wall. He brings his knees up to his chest and bows his head. Zack’s words hold little meaning to him. All he can think of is Harry. Does Harry no longer love him? Why the sudden change of mind? What will he do now? Because his heart still belongs firmly to Harry. Without him, James will be empty and hollow, completely unable to love again.

When faced with the prospect of life without Harry, James might as well not live at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last minute plot twist!! Final chapter coming soon xx


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final instalment - please, enjoy xx

It is fair to say that James does not sleep well that night. He does not sleep well at all. He tosses and turns, this way and that. He tries to pace around his room and walk himself to exhaustion, but it seems his earlier tiredness has abated. He tries to read and fails to distract himself. Counting sheep has no effect. His heartache keeps him awake.

James has not slept a wink by the time the sun shines through the curtains. His body is stiff and there is a crick in his neck. Mentally and physically, he feels drained. What he could do with right now is a stiff drink and zero responsibilities. James wants to mope and sulk and wallow in despair and self-pity.

But, as it stands, he has more responsibilities than before. Not only is he now the head of his family but he has no idea whether to leave this house as soon as possible, as Zack suggested, or to stay and help Harry leave regardless. One thing he knows, is that he cannot leave without knowing why. What happened while he was at dinner?

He doesn’t expect Zack to valet for him, so he doesn’t bother ringing the bell. He dresses and heads downstairs for breakfast, pushing aside his pain and donning a mask. Never show weakness, was one of his mother’s favourite sayings. Never let anyone know how they can beat you. Never make it easy for them.

He is the first to rise, startling some of the servants busying around the house. He waves away their apologies, simply asks where he can wait out of the way. He smiles tightly at Liberty as she passes by with a duster in hand, but he can’t bring himself to mirror her energy. Will gives him and odd look, and James has no doubt that the seasoned eavesdropper heard the shouting last night. Perhaps, he knows the reason why, but there is little chance of him telling James why.

Soon, S’Avage retrieves him. James doesn’t have to wait long in the dining room for Lord Tony and his son-in-law to come down. Lord Tony, as ever, is oblivious to any tension. James is beginning to think that childlike ignorance is the man’s default setting. But Ste is as smug as ever.

Suddenly, there is no doubt of Ste’s involvement. The looks during dinner; his absence from the drawing room just after dinner; his self-satisfied smile: they all point to him being responsible. He said something to Harry that made him think James a liar. James needs to know what it was if he is to have any hope of repairing relations with Harry.

“Did you sleep well?” Lord Tony asks, tucking into his kedgeree and toast.

“Like a baby.” Like a teething baby, more like. James is happy to see Ste’s expression falter; clearly he expected James to be visibly upset.

“Lord Ste,” starts James, making a conscious effort not to fracture Ste’s jaw. His injury from yesterday has avoided becoming a black eye. “How have you been since I was last here? I seem to have spoken to everyone but you.”

“Oh, not much. Though I did hear something interesting from a friend. Some noble lord has died. Apparently he’s been on his death bed for a while, but he’s finally kicked the bucket.” James freezes and he sees the moment Ste realises he has James in a trap. “It was only a small mention in the paper - the widow probably paid the press not to make a big deal of it - but something caught my eye. A picture of the new lord, quite an old one, sure, but it was unmistakable. Then the caption, just one line - ‘heir James Nightingale, first son of deceased Lord Mackenzie Nightingale and Marnie Nightingale, formerly of the American Maxwell-Browns, will inherit the title and estate in full’. You’re the new Lord Nightingale, aren’t you?”

“And if I am?”

“Well, then you’ve been lying to us. To all of us. Harry included. And how do you think Harry reacted to finding out that you are now a Duke, that you lied to him. What else have you lied abut? Your feelings maybe?”

Oh, shit. He knew this lie would come back to bite him on his arse. He knew revealing the truth to Harry would be difficult, but he hoped Harry would understand given their profound bond. But if Ste whispered into Harry’s ear and sowed seeds of doubt then no wonder Zack assaulted him. He has to make this right.

“Is this true?” Asks a bewildered Tony, his toast falling from his hand. “You’re Mac Nightingale’s son.”

James turns to Tony with his coldest expression, veiling his disgust at the man no longer. With the truth out he can look at him as if he were a piece of dirt on his shoe without fearing retribution. “Is that a problem?”

“B—But why would you lie? We thought you were James Maxwell-Brown- a scholar.”

“That is none of your business, Lord Hutchinson. Now, if you’ll excuse me, something urgent has come up.”

James stands and heads off the door but is halted by Ste standing in his way. “Move. Or you will be moved.”

Ste spits, “this man is a liar and scoundrel! Tony, we should kick him out now! No longer shall he step foot in this house.” Ste waits for his back-up. But none comes, and he turns gobsmacked to his father-in-law. “Tony?”

“He outranks us.”

“In our own home?”

“Quite so, I’m afraid.” Interjects James. “Now, move.”

“Ste, let him pass. We don’t want to know what damage he could do to our reputation if we cross him.” James almost cheers at Tony’s spinelessness. At least this man has sense. 

“Listen to him, Ste. You really don’t want to know.”

James leaves the two men to their breakfast and pushes them from his mind. He must make things right with Harry, have his chance to explain. Surely Harry will grant him that. Harry must love him enough to hear him out.

Before James knows it he is knocking on the door, his heart pounding on his chest. He wonders if it will bruise? It feels as if his ribs are cracking from the inside. His palms are sweaty and his mouth is dry. His knees are wobbly; if it takes any longer for Zack to open this door he might collapse.

He can hear muttering on the other side of the door and then finally the door is opened and Zack is scowling at him once more. “What do you want?”

“I need a chance to explain, Zack. There’s been a misunderstanding.” He doesn’t wait for a response, simply pushes gently past Zack into the bedroom.

Harry is still in the bed, still as bruised and bloody as before. But unlike yesterday, the mood in the room is oppressively depressing. The shutters are still closed, the air feels musty and too warm. Harry has his back to the door, to James, and he must be boiling under all of his blankets.

James rounds the bed and sits down, ignoring Harry’s tired plea — “go away, James, please”. The younger man refuses to look him in the eye. His cheeks are tear-stained and his eyes are puffy and rubbed raw.

“No.” For all that James loves Harry and would do anything he asked, he will not do this. “I need to know what Ste told you, so that I can explain.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious what he said.” Zack snaps from the corner of the room, shooting daggers at James’ back. “He told us the truth. Or are you not a Duke, Lord James Nightingale?”

James addresses Harry as he speaks. “Yes. I am. But until a few weeks ago I had renounced my family. I gave up the title and the money and the estate, everything. I could no longer live that life so I chose a different one: the life of a penniless scholar begging favours off rich Lords and Ladies.”

Still, Harry resolutely looks away. Once again, Zack speaks for him. “What changed?”

“My father died. Apparently I was still named as heir in his will, and since neither of my brothers want to lead the family I had to accept. That’s where I’ve been these past few weeks, in meetings and reading paperwork and fixing the mess my father left. I’m sorry. I should have told you, either when we first got to know each other, or when I returned as a lord. You don’t deserve to be lied to.”

Slowly, as if held down my a monumental weight, Harry turns to lie on his back, looking up at James. If the tears weren’t enough to break James’ heart, the hollow pit in his eyes would surely shatter it.

“Was anything you told me true?” Harry asks, his voice a hoarse croak that spoke of hours crying and wailing.

“Yes, of course. Everything. My mother comes from an American family, I have three siblings - Nathan, Ellie and Alfie - and my father is… Everything I told you is true, except for that detail. That I’m noble born and richer than I could possibly believe.”

“Ste…” Harry starts, and James can’t help his scowl. “He told me you lied on purpose. Said you were planning to keep me as your secret affair in some out of the way village while you went to dinners and parties with someone else - someone better. He said you didn’t love me, you were just having fun making me believe it. That you were toying with me.”

“No, Harry, no. I would never do that to you.” James dares to reach out for Harry’s hand, and his heart soars when he squeezes back. “I admit I didn’t tell you, but you can’t believe a word Ste says. The man has abused you for years, he enjoys causing you pain, so imagine how happy he would be knowing he ruined your chance at a happy life. You’ve stood up against him now and shown him that his punches won’t keep you down, he’s desperate.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for? I shouldn’t have kept it from you. We were meant to be completely honest and have no secrets, but I kept one of the biggest secrets ever from you. I am sorry.”

“I believed him. I don’t know why, and I should’ve known better than to take him at his word.”

“It’s okay, Harry. We’re okay, aren’t we?”

“Yes. Everything will work itself out.”

Harry leans in for a kiss that James is more than happy to reciprocate. The emotional whirlwind of the past few hours finally quietens and he feels at peace. He just wants a simple life with Harry - no drama, no fighting, no lying. Though, he must admit he feels a weight lifting from his chest now that the lie is gone. From the moment he felt that first spark of attraction to Harry, James wished to be completely honest with him. He wanted to bare his soul to the man and have him see him for all of his flaws and imperfections. It was only his aversion to any links of his past and his family that kept him from revealing all. He had been so used to hiding his past that actually divulging his secrets was difficult to carry out.

James finds himself grateful for Ste’s intervention. Thinking on it, he has no idea how he was planning on telling Harry. There is no way that wouldn’t be awkward or with at least a little tension - having it come out in such an explosive way might have been for the best. And that’s when it hits him; explosive confrontation might be the best option.

He pulls away from Harry, catching his breath. “I’ve got it.”

“Got what?”

“I know how to get you a divorce.”

Harry sits up eagerly, well, sits up as much as his heavily bandaged torso will allow him to. “How? You know we can’t just ask him, that will never work.”

“I am aware. But, when I told your father that the situation with McQueen was dealt with, he offered me a debt. Anything I want. And what I want is Ste to divorce you.”

Harry scoffs lightly, “I don’t think that’ll work. Surely that’s too much to ask. He won’t do it.”

“He reiterated several times that nothing is too big - he offered to bail me out of prison, get me a knighthood if I wanted one. I have him where I want him.”

“But he didn’t sign anything - there’s no contract that says he’ll give you this favour.”

James smiles, that sly smile that shows he knows he’s winning. “You know how I got McQueen to stop?”

“You blackmailed him.”

“And what’s to say I don’t have material to use against your family.”

“You want to blackmail my dad?”

“That was our original plan, wasn’t it? If he refuses to give me this favour, I will blackmail him for it - and this time he has no me to fix it for him.”

“You really are an evil man, James.”

“Good evil, I hope.”

“Definitely.” Harry tugs him closer by the lapels of his jacket and kisses him teasingly.

It ends all too quickly, their mutual feelings of anticipation driving them to distraction. They want this whole episode in their lives to be over so that they can start a new chapter together. Soon, they will be driving off into the sunset together - their own happily ever after.

James heads downstairs, reluctantly leaving Harry in the bedroom - his injuries make it impossible for him to leave the comfort and safety of his bed for long - and calls for Tony to come out. He clenches his fists and puts on his best business face. He needs to be focused to outwit Tony and leave him no way out.

“What’s going on?” Lord Tony asks, seeming so much smaller and insignificant than he did before. James knows that their positions are equal now, but his family is much richer and more influential than the Hutchinson’s.

James stops on the penultimate step as the other lord comes closer. “I want to call in that favour.”

“Oh? I can’t think of anything a lord would want that he can’t get himself. What is it?”

“I want Ste to divorce Harry. Preferably sooner rather than later.”

“What? I don’t understand. Ste would never divorce Harry and I would never allow it. Do you know what I went through to arrange the marriage in the first place?”

James fights down a grin - he doesn’t like it when things are too easy, this way he can show his strength. “Oh, I do know. But I don’t care. They will divorce, and you will expend every penny possible to make it go smoothly as it can. You owe me this.”

Lord Tony bristles, standing up to his full height even though James is standing on a step and is taller anyway. The man might throw a punch if James goads him enough, but that doesn’t scare him; James has had enough practice standing up to bullying fathers. “And what if I don’t?”

“Then you will be ruined. If you don’t hold up your end of the bargain and do as I say, John Paul McQueen will look like a gnat in comparison to the havoc I could cause. I know things that will destroy your reputation for generations to come.”

“You signed a non-disclosure. You signed away your right reveal the information McQueen had weeks ago.” Tony’s victorious expression simply added to James’ own victory.

“Did I though? If you’ll remember, or indeed check the papers, I signed them as James Maxwell-Brown, which, we now know, is not my legal name, therefore the contract is not legally binding. And besides, I know more than McQueen.”

“You’re bluffing. How could you know anything? Prove it.”

“Very well. I know why you were so adamant for Ste and Harry to marry - so that you could legitimise Ste and his children as your heirs and give them a share of your wealth upon your death. So you could join the Hay estate to your own.”

“B—But, Ste hasn’t got any children.” He sputters indignantly.

“The nanny, Amy Barnes, has two children, yes - Leah and Lucas, if I’m not mistaken. She’s unmarried, rather down on her luck, and no reputable employer would keep her on, especially not looking after noble children. But they would if she were part of the family. They’re Ste’s children, aren’t they?”

“It’s not illegal for a man to have children.”

“No. But it would ruin Sinead’s reputation if people were to find out about her’s as well. Plus, your many affairs, and failed business ventures. You’ve cheated thousands of honest, working men out of their hard earned cash and never faced the consequences. I have so much I can use to robing your down, and no doubt I will obtain more. So, do not doubt that I will unleash it should you violate our agreement.”

Tony seems to understand, bowing his head to his superior. “I’ll talk to Ste. Get him to accept.”

“You should be happy about this, Tony.”

“And why is that?” The man spits. “You are blackmailing me and taking my son away from his home and his family. You know how fragile he is, he doesn’t need all this trouble.”

“If you think that your son is safe here, happy here, then you are blind. Delusional and blind. Your son is stronger than you give him credit for and is worth more than the worth of his marriage. His husband beats, belittles and cheats on him. How could you force your son into a marriage like that? You are no true father. You claim to love and care for him, but you do not. If you do, truly, love him as a father should, then let him be free.”

At that the man is speechless for once, and James takes his cue to return upstairs. “I expect to be updated on your progress, Tony.” He calls over his shoulder, and he hears a quiet affirmative a few moments later.

James returns to Harry’s room with his suppressed smile splitting his face. There is no need for words between them - their plan worked, and everything will be well.

*

Several months later, Harry launches himself out of the Nightingale family’s motor car and into James’ waiting arms. He clings on for dear life, burrowing his face in James’ neck and holding back his tears of happiness. James holds on just as tightly. He pulls Harry close enough to feel every inch of his body.

“I’ve missed you so much.” Harry wipes away a stray tear as he reluctantly steps away, looking James up and down. In a tailored suit that costs more than the cottage they had dreamt about, looking every inch the suave, sophisticated lord, Harry’s mouth waters at the sight of his lover. He’d had fantasies about taking James to a tailor and watch him transform from a scholar in a shabby, tweed suit to a socialite in a tail coat. “Look at you, dressed up all fancy.”

James blushes, failing to hide his smile. “It’s been too long, Harry, but I’m glad everything is over now.”

“I can’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.”

“I know. Now, come in, you must meet the rest of the family.” James takes him by the hand and leads him past the butler and the footmen to the library. Harry feels his palms begin to sweat. What if they don’t like him? What if they resent him for all the trouble he’s caused?

As if he knows the self-self-deprecating thoughts running through Harry’s mind, James reassuringly squeezes his hand. “They’ll love you, trust me.”

When they enter the library, all eyes are on them. Harry relies on his noble-family teachings to keep from shrinking away and stammering. The Nightingale family are an intimidating bunch, even without James’ late father - he knows that no one in this room would hurt him intentionally, but he can’t help being wary of the matriarch’s stern, penetrating stare.

“Everyone,” James announces to the room, “this is Harry. Harry, this is my family. My mother, Marnie.”

Marnie Nightingale puts aside her teacup and approaches the pair. To Harry, she looks like a Queen, striding regally across the room, and he feel the urge to bow and say ‘your Majesty’. Thankfully, he refrains, else that would be embarrassing. She pierces him with her eyes like a butterfly under a glass, and then her face breaks into a pleasant smile and she wraps him gently in her arms.

“Oh, you are sweet.” She says loudly, commanding the room. The rest of the family, Harry included, release a breath. But, in his ear, she whispers menacingly, “if you hurt my boy, I will make sure that no one finds your body. Trust me, I can do it.” She releases him, still smiling, and Harry nods, his own smile hesitant. He can’t tell if that was good or not.

James continues the introductions. “My brothers, Nathan and Alfie, and my sister, Ellie.” Nathan stands to shake his hand, but Alfie only spares him a glance from where he is contemplating his next chess move. Ellie, however, leaps on him and attempts to crush his organs.

“I’m so happy to see you. James never shuts up about you. Not that that’s a bad thing, it’s just so nice to see him so happy.” She squeals, clapping her hands together.

With Ellie distracted with happiness, drawing all of the attention in the room, James tugs Harry to the side of the room. They hadn’t let go of each other’s hands the whole time. “Well, now that you’ve been introduced and have my mother’s seal of approval, how about we catch up? We’ve barely seen each other since the divorce proceedings started.”

“I know. I wish you could’ve been by my side - it would’ve made things so much easier - but that lawyer you hired thought it might be wiser, so that you couldn’t be accused of interfering.”

“I know and I agreed with him. But all my worries have gone away now that you’re here in my arms. I’m glad to see you’re all healed up.”

Harry looks down at his gloved hands, then slowly starts to peel them off. “Mostly healed. They can’t get rid of the scars.” The burn scar on his left hand is less noticeable than it was a few months ago, but it is a far cry from the baby smooth skin it was before. Much like James he has other scars, but none so obvious as this.

“I love you, Harry.”

Harry looks up in surprise, “I love you, too.”

James takes his scarred hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. “I love you, Harry. Flaws and all, scars and all. You have seen the worst parts of me, the parts I was ashamed to show anyone, and it is only fair that I see yours and love you still. I love you so much, Harry. never doubt that, please."

“I won’t. You have given me more love and hope and happiness in the past year than anyone else has in my entire life. It is a privilege and an honour to be in love with you. You are all that I want, and I love you.”

Harry will never tire of saying those three simple words. He is so grateful for everything he has been given, so thankful, and he is determined to make the most of it. He reaches up to take James’ face in his hands - not quite believing that the love of his life is finally in front of him and will not be leaving any time soon - and kisses him for the first time in months. He swears to never again be apart from James.

“Harry, I do have one little thing to ask.” James pulls away, mouth set in a serious frown.

“Don’t be so serious, James, whatever it is, just ask.”

James clears his throat awkwardly, his nervousness is hopelessly endearing. “Harry, will you accept my formal courtship? Or, do I need to ask your father’s permission?”

“Who cares about what my father thinks. I would love to court you, so yes, I accept.”

And to think, this all started in the west wing of his father’s library.


End file.
